First Aid
by Kasiarzyna
Summary: A good heart can sometimes lead to catastrophic consequences. And Camille Jaffe learns it the hard way. Adult stuff might be happening in future chapters. Be warned, be safe. IM REWRITING THIS BIAAATCH
1. Evil Has Landed

Mistakes happened, and at this point Camille Jaffe is convinced, she is a self-proclaimed expert at making them. The first one this week was quite simple. She decided it was a good idea to just leave her purse open, while doing some grocery shopping, which resulted in her wallet stolen. Those two doughnuts and a bottle of sparkling water wasn't really worth all the trouble that is waiting in front of her now.

She isn't living in the worst possible area of Gotham, but then again, Gotham generally isn't the best place to be.

Camile is quite happy with her little apartment, not terribly far from the city center. As she is living completely on her own, she doesn't need much space, only enough to accommodate her, and the tons of paper she uses for her job.

Currently, she is working as a short story writer for one of the lesser known papers. The job is easy enough, since her mind always races with thoughts of different plots and characters. Thankfully, her publishers don't need her to be overly wise with her writings. More popular titles are known for forcing life changing debates, that are as shallow as a typical trash talking magazines. Camille's ability to write easy texts, that are more relatable for the general populace of Gotham, makes her a valuable asset to the otherwise overlooked paper.

People need something that would take their minds off the crumbling town, that seems to only reward the wicked, leaving the good ones on the streets, begging for scraps. Sometimes, Camille wonders, if the legendary crime rate would drop, if people would just start being nice to each other.

Although she really isn't one to complain.

Her parents, while alive, made quite a fortune providing medical supplies to the army. After they died, everything landed in Camille's less than able hands. Until her parents untimely demise, Camille was living in her own, small apartment, locked behind wooden doors in a prison of her own choosing. After she realized, she could buy half of Gotham and still have money for a coffee in the morning, nothing much changed. Most of her found stayed on her bank account untouched, safe for the monthly donations to a local orphanage. Her parents company was sold right after their death, and was taken under the wing of Wayne Enterprises.

Camille liked peace and quiet. She realized early on, that too much money would strip her of both.

The procedure regarding her missing credit card goes by smoothly, mostly because at the mention of her family's name, the woman servicing her almost faints. Her parents were known thorough the city as the literal angels walking the face of earth. The only good rich people in Gotham. Well, maybe besides the Waynes. Everybody loved the Waynes as well.

After finishing her business and wishing the woman at the counter a good day, Camille packs all her documents into a backpack and makes her way towards the exit.

It's a beautiful day outside and rays of sunshine warm the top of her head full of curly hair, through gigantic glass panels on the roof. She, wisely, decided this morning not to dress overly warm, even though mornings in the city can get a little chilly. Even with only a thin, short sleeved shirt on, she can feel her body grow hotter by the minute.

Her fingers almost touch the metal handle of the door, she looks up, movement on the outside catching her eye. That's when she sees them. Three men wearing clown masks re approaching the bank in long, quick strides. They vaguely remind Camille of Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs, just with a twisted, horror-like twist to their features. Then, she sees big blue bags at their hips and guns in their hands, and she feels her heart sin down in her stomach.

For a split-second she thinks she can just slip past them and run away, until she reaches the doors to her apartment and surround herself with familiar scents and feelings. And she tries. She opens the door, right when one of the men reaches out for the handle, and she immediately realizes her plans are for nothing. The man is gigantic in his posture, with a mask that resembles Sleepy. He puts out his arm, effectively trapping Camille in his strong hold and she yelps form the unwanted contact.

\- It's your lucky day, sweetheart - the man says lowly into her ear, turning her already trembling body to face the small crowd inside the bank.

She feels something cold and hard press into her right cheek and with a strangled whimper she realizes, she's being held at gunpoint.

There is a small moment of heavy silence, where she can feel her heart hammering away in her chest. A second later, she hears shots, tooo close to her ears. The robbers stat to shoot at the ceiling, demanding, that everyone gets on the ground. Pieces of concrete are falling from above in a white cloud of dust, settling in Camille's hair.

Sleepy raises his weapon, screaming at the terrified people, although Camille can barely hear him, through the ringing in her ears. Before she has the time to properly asses the situation she's in, she's being shoved roughly to the ground. She collides with a wooden desk, and clumsily scrambled away, to the other side of the furniture, trying to stay out of sight.

She can hear them talk and split up. With her back to the desk, she fights to keep her breathing steady, to not start hyperventilating. Her hands are shaking, as she clamps her palm tightly on her mouth, drowning out any unwanted sounds that threaten to spill from her lips. Fighting her fear as best she could, she feels her breathing start to even out. Alfred used to say, she had a natural calmness about her. That she could tame a lion with one look. She never agreed with him. Calmness wasn't what she saw every day in the mirror.

Slowly, Camille puts out her head, and watches from behind the desk as the three masked men start to run around the place. The smiling one disappears in the vault, presumably to open the safe and steal all the money. Sleepy and a clown with the grumpiest expression ever depicted on a mask are pacing around through the room, keeping a close eye on the people cowering on the floor.

Camille sighs a breath of relief. They don't seem to notice her head peaking out the side of the desk.

Grumpy opens a bag, that is supported on his hip and pulls out a round object, roughly the size of an apple. As soon as she sees the shape in his hand, all her hopes of survival turn into dust.

Grenades. They have fucking grenades, and apparently they are now giving them to people.

Camille ducks down behind the desk, placing both her hands over her mouth, to muffle her erratic breathing. She really doesn't want to die. Her entire body is shaking, beads of sweat are forming on her forehead and her back. But, she isn't crying. If she is going to die, at least she saves some dignity.

She can hear heavy footsteps of the attacker, and a metallic pull of the pin, whenever he moved from one person to the other. She doesn't dare to look out again. Pulling her knees to her chest, she bites down on her lower lip and listens to the approaching footsteps.

A short, strangled cry catches her attention.

She looks to the right and sees a blonde woman in her thirties, pushed against the marble counter. She is looking at the advancing man with pure terror in her eyes, lined with once elegant makeup, that was now smeared all over her delicate features. "Roselyn" says the tag on her shirt, and Camille almost chokes on a laugh. God really works in mysterious ways, not that she ever believed in her existence.

It takes her several minutes, to recognize that this isn't her Roselyn. Her Roselyn is shorter and chubbier, with soft hands and pursed lips. Her hair, although blonde, lost its shine years ago, after being constantly treated with bleach. Her Roselyn isn't here.

Suddenly, the other Roselyn is obscured from Camille's vision by a rather slim frame, clad in a purple coat and a mass of greasy hair, that looks as if someone tried to dye them green and failed miserably. The man can't see her yet, as he's standing, his back turned to her. For a split-second Camille thinks that maybe, maybe he won't notice her.

But then, right as the man starts to reach for another grenade, Roselyn looks right at her. Those blue eyes, glossy with tears meet Camille's and she can see the recognition flash in them. The man follows her gaze and slowly turns towards Camille.

The time seems to slow down impossibly.

Camille freezes in her spot, unable to move. Even her breath flattens, as she sees dark eyes looking at her with, what she later gathers is curiosity. The man in the Grumpy mask tilts his head slightly to the right and makes one big step in her direction. She still can't move, even though her brain is screaming at her to go, to run. And so, unable to do anything else, she meets his inquisitive gaze.

Calm. Calm. She has to be calm.

Her breath hitches in her throat, and she feels a familiar wave of fear crash throughout her body. This time, it's not because she is in the middle of a bank robbery. This time, it's because of this man. His dark eyes drill a hole in her soul, looking at her so intensely, she can feel the burning between her eyes. It's unnerving, to say the least, and Camille shivers, her body all but shaking on the ground.

The man reaches into his bag to retrieve a grenade, his eyes not once leaving hers. And then another gunshot rings out, and both the man and Camille fall to the ground. Grumpy scrambles away, running to the other side of the desk, taking cover. Camille risks a look, just to see the bank manager flailing a rifle around, shooting almost blindly. One of the shots is fired in the general direction of the counters, eight where Roselyn is shaking in fear.

The woman gives a sharp scream, drowned by the sound of another couple of shots. Camille picks her head to look at the woman, and she sees with horror, that the other Roselyn is bleeding quite heavily.

Her leg was hit right in the middle of her thigh. A long gash ran through her flesh, looking like a bloody mess. Underneath her writhing form a small pool of blood begins to grow. Camille watches, as the woman moves her lips, breathing heavily. even though she is obviously loosing strength with every passing second.

Calm. Calm. She has to be calm.

Another shot made Camille lant her head on the ground again. And then silence, heavy with the smell of gunpowder and blood. So much blood.

Camille shakes her head slightly, some pieces of wood and glass fall from her hair onto the floor. The other Roselyn lays on her back, barely holding her head up.

At this moment, Camille decides that living is overrated anyway. Shooting a sidelong glance at the robbers, she crawls over to the other Roselyn, cheking her pulse with a shaking hand.

The woman is looking at her with tears streaming down her face, mascara smearing all over her cheekbones. She is pale. Paler than what is considered healthy. Camille can feel her trousers begin to dampen with blood, where she is kneeling.

\- Shhh - Camille puts her hands on the woman's shoulders, turning her slightly towards the warm sunlight - It's gonna be alright, you're gonna be alright.

\- Hey!

Camille freezes in her spot, slowly turning her head towards the shouting man. Sleepy is walking fast towards them, with a gun in his hand and Grumpy following right behind him.

\- Get away from her! - Sleepy shouts, pointing the gun at Camille.

\- She's hurt! - she shouts back, rising her hands, just in case.

The man looks briefly towards the other Roselyn. She can sense the hesistation in his movements.

\- Get. Away. - he says again, waving his gun around.

\- She's bleeding out! - Camille's voice rings out through the hall.

She hates how panicked she sounds, but looks at the men wide-eyed. Grumpy watches her with a curious tilt to his head, just like moments ago, but this time she refuses to meet his gaze, instead focusing on Sleepy. The larger man sighs with exasperation, before turning away.

\- Whatever - he grumbles - Keep an eye on them - he says to his Grumpy companion.

Camille lets her eyes close just for a moment. She lets out a shuddering sigh of relief. Without as much as a second look to the still observing her man, she turns to the other Roselyn. She sits straight on her knees and quickly unbuckles her belt, that until now, was supporting her jeans on her hips. She pulls the leather in a couple of quick movements and launches forward, to wrap a makeshift tourniquet around the woman's tigh. The other Roselyn whimpers, as Camile ties a secure knot, effectively cutting off the blood flow out of the woman's leg.

\- Listen - the other Roselyn whispers in a voice so low, Camille has to lean down to hear her - My name is Roselyn Johnson. If I die, tell my mother I love her.

Camille can feel a wave of shudders ripple through her. Her shaking hand finds the woman's shoulders and squeezes tightly.

\- You will tell her yourself. - she says with such force, that the other Roselyn looks up at her face with the rest of the strenght she has.

Her lips quiver and a flood of tears leaves her eyes. Camille turns her focus back to the abused leg. She tears a piece of cloth from her thin, white shirt and ties it around the bullet wound. The piece of material turns red almost immediately.

Camille tries her best to remain calm. She controlls her breathing and swallows any tears, thet threaten to come up to the surface. A soft click, that sounds like thunder in her ears is hear behind her. Immadietely, she turns around and is greeted face to face with Grumpy, pointing his pistol at the other Roselyn. He is still looking at Camille, that same, morbid curiosity clear in his black eyes. Waiting for her to react. And boy, did she deliver.

In a flash of courage, Camille shifts on her knees, shielding the woman's body with her own.

Silence falls around them, tension rising to a cutting point, where you can almost feel the air the shift subtly in the building.

He watches her, tilting her head to one side, and then to the other. Not a word leaves his lips. There is something about his movements that seems almost inhuman. Like a predator, slowly observing his prey. Camille has never seen anything like this.

In her life, she met many mean men. Some more than others. Cruel bastards and just unpleasant ones. But this is something completely different. The man moves in a taut way, like at any given moment he can break, launch himself at her. Camille feels hopeless, staring at the man behind the gun. She feels like she won't survive this. That none of them will. The other Roselyn is crying lougly behing her back.

Before any of them can do anything more, Sleepy returns from the vault with all the blue bags filled. Grumpy turns away from the twi women like nithing happened, and begins to walk towards the collected money. Camille shifts, as she feels a ahand squeeze her arm. The other Roselyn looks at her with tears streaming down her face. Her lips are trembling and her body is shaking violetnly.

\- Thank you - she rasps out so weakly, it's almost impossible to hear.

Camille clasps her hand around the woman's wrist. She gives her a weak smile, trying to calm her down, to show her, that maybe they will both live to tell this story to the police. Their brief moment of silence is cut short however, by a loud craching noise, coming from the other side of the hall. Both women look terrified towards the source of the commotion.

A school bus.

A whole fucking school bus came craching through the wall on the far side of the building, killing Sleepy in the process and leaving only Grumy standing. The bus driver jumps out the back of the bus, immediatelly starting to load the blue bags filled with money. As soon as every bag was in the bus, Brumpy shoots the driver without sparing him as much as a second glance.

\- Think you're smatr, huh?

Camille's head snaps towards the bank manager, lying on the ground, right where she used to hide before the shooting started. For some reason she didn't notice him there.

\- The guy that hired you, will do the same thing to you - the manager choked out through pools of blood spitting from his mouth - Criminals in this town used to believe in things. Honor, respect...

Grumpy was getting dangerously close to the bleeding man, staling slowly, his back hunched over. His gloved hand was searching for something behind his coat.

\- Look at you. What do you believe in? What do you believe in?!

Before the man lets out his last shout, Grumpy lowers himself to his level and stucks a gas grenade into the manager's mouth.

\- I believe - starts the masked robber with a weirdly high pitch to his voice - That whatever doesn't kill you...

Grumpy reaches towards his mask and pulls it off in one swift motion.

\- ...Simply makes you stranger.

Camille's heart jumped right to her throat, as she took a good look at the man's face. It was painted to resemble a terryfying version of a clown. With black around his eyes, white face and blood-red lips, that expand almost all the way towards his ears.

Suddenly, his eyes flash to her, and Camille freezes in her spot.

The darkness in his eyes and the sinister smile he wore on his face told her everything she needs to know. She is going to die here. There is no other way around it.

In a flash of motion, he stands up. His posture slightly hunched over, his dirty green hair are framing his face. There is an edge to him, like at any given moemnt he can charge and attack you, but at the same time, he can not. Camille stares at him, through the hair that fallen in front of her eyes. The other Roselyn's fingers are biting into her hand painfully. The silence is almost suffocating.

He's closer now, the tips of his shoes are almost touching the pool of blood from Roselyn's leg. He reaches behind his coat, towards his belt, nd pulls out the gun. Camille takes a deep breath through her nose, feeling a sickening smell of blood, sweat and paint. She sighs, holds Roselyn's hand and closes her eyes.

No pain comes, no shot rings out, the only thing Camille feels are fingers around her jaw. Her eyes snap open and she immediately recoils, as she comes face to face with the derranged clown. His holding her head still with his free hand, gloved fingers digging into her flesh. He's so close, she can feel waves of hot breath hit her face. The red paint covers some nasty looking scars, extending from the corners of his mouth. Now, that they're so close, Camille has a chance to properly look at him, not that she's thrilled at the opportunity.

His eyes are slightly peeled, and he tilts his head back, observing her. She refuses to cry once again, biting her lower lip, util she can taste her own blood. Every second feels like a small eternity, as they stare at eachother in complete silence. And then Camille hears a click. She starts to struggle in his grip, as she can see the gun in his other hand being slowly risen up.

\- No - she mumbles, looking at the man with pleading eyes, knowing full well, that she has absolutely no power in this situation. - Please...

He flashes her a grin, exposing teeth, that have some red paint on them. And then a shot rings out. Camille shuts her eyes closed and winces, the ringing in her ears almost unbearable. Her head hurts, and her hands cover her ears. She doesn't register when those invading fingers leave her jaw, she doesn't hear the laughter, as the man jumps into the bus. She can only feel her clothes begin to stick to her body, as they soak up blood from a growing pool behind her.

If she turned around, she would see what's left of Roselyn's head, creating a macabre painting on the marble counter. But she doesn't. She just lays there, curled in a pool of blood, cluthing her head and crying.

For the first time, truly crying.

A.N.

So, dudes and dudettes, I have to put a little disclaimer here.

English is not my first language, so please don't beat me if you find any mistakes. I would be grateful however, if y'all could tell me what I'm doing right, or wrong. I'm just a little Polish girl with a weakness for men in face paint.

This story is in the proces of being rewritten, mostly because I saw the new Joker movie with my man Joaquin Phoenix and it made me fall back in love with the character. So, bear with me on this one, I only vaguely know what I'm doing.

Anyways, I hope y'all will have a black reading this story as much as I have a blast writing it!

Love y'all!


	2. No Care

_She could see the impending bright lights in front of them. Two LED circles shining in the distance, coming at them at a fast speed. She was frozen. Unable to move from her leather seat at the back. Laura's hair were flying around as she shook her head to the deafening sound of a song coming out of a radio._

_A hand was massaging her knee, creeping up, and up, ever so slightly. She knew it was Eric. Who else could it be? He was sitting right beside her, his body heat radiating off of him and seeping into her clothes. Despite the ever present warmness, she shivered, the creeping hand got too close, too high up._

_She turned her head slightly, concern clear on her face. Eric was smiling, his teeth visible in the passing road lights. His eyes, always flickering, were the shade of the deepest blue, just like the ocean. So full of life. _

_Not for long._

_Eric scanned her face with those blue eyes of his. Camille knew what was going to happen. She had this dream so many times, and it always ended the same way. But before she could brace herself for the truck's impact. _

_Eric's mouth pulled back into a smile._

_Camille froze in her seat, watching in horror, as the corners of the man's mouth expanded wider and wider, soon reminding her of the smile that had been haunting her thoughts since the bank robbery._

_There was a sudden silence in the car. Eric was still grinning at her with his bloodied lips, and then finally spoke, with a high-pitched voice._

_\- Go ahead Camille._

_She was shaking. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it has always been._

_\- Prove you're not dead._

_Then, the truck came, loud and sharp, and so, so painful._

Camille woke up with a strangled cry, flinging her pillow off the sofa and hearing a tell-tale thud of her phone landing on the carpet.

Her apartment was hot and stuffy. It was getting harder for her to breathe. She could feel sticky traces of dried tears on her cheeks, and she rubbed her trembling hand on one of them.

Camille looked at her wrist watch and sighed heavily. 4 a.m. It wasn't too bad, she had definitely had nights when she had woken up much earlier.

Slowly, she got up from her couch and stood still for a second, trying to control her breathing and the trembling in her hands. She took a deep breath and looked around the dark apartment.

_Something was off._

There was an irritating pang at the back of her head, telling her, that she should pay more attention to her surroundings. And she did. she looked back at the couch, and with a cocked brow found that there was a floral blanket, crumbled in the same place she held her feet. She didn't remember taking it from her bedroom.

Camille scratched her head and went to the desk, picking up the Batman plushie dropping it almost instantly.

There, on the frowning face, with a red sharpie, was a terrifying smile, that extended right to the edges of the black mask.

Camille felt her heart jump to her throat. Realization dawned upon her with a shudder, shaking her to her very core. She hadn't closed the door properly, after Roselyn left. He was here, in her home.

A cold shiver ran down her back, as she looked over her writing machine. There, written in the same, red sharpie were words, scribbled chaotically.

"_Lock your doors, pumpkin_"

And she did. She darted across the living room and practically slammed herself into the door, locking her locks. After she was absolutely sure that no one could get in, she slid her body down onto the floor and pressed her palms into her eyes, almost too painfully. She needed help. She needed to feel safe again in her own home. And so, she scrambled on the floor and reached for her phone. With still trembling fingers, she dialed a number.

\- Millie? - Bruce sounded like he was in pain as he picked up - Why are you calling me at this hour? Is everything okay?

She was silent for a moment, trying to calm her breathing.

\- Listen, Bruce, could you come by for a second? Now? - she asked, a bit more panicked, than she anticipated.

\- Something had happened, hadn't it? - asked Bruce - I'll be with you in a couple of minutes.

\- Hurry, please, and use the window - Camille sighed, and hung up, already making her way to open the window slightly.

She was pacing around her living room. The plushie, lying on her desk was burning into her brain. He was here. Somehow he got her address and were here. And didn't do anything,

She stopped her pacing and glanced at the writing machine. He could've killed her. She had knives in the kitchen, hell, he probably had a fuck-ton of knives himself. He could've just slit her throat while she was sleeping, but, he didn't.

_He's playing the long game. _

A knock on her window made her jump. She turned to see a familiar face, peaking inside her apartment,

Bruce looked like hell. There were a couple of cuts along his jaw and on his forehead, and Camille could see in the way he climbed into her living room, that he was in pain. Something tugged at her heart, and she rushed to help him. After he was fully in her room, he took a long look at her face and his features instantly softened.

\- What happened, Millie?

Camille sighed and pointed to her desk. Bruce glanced at her before slowly making his way towards it. He looked over the scribbled text and took the plushie into his hand. She could see his muscles tense and his jaw set.

\- When did you find out? - he asked with an edge to his voice.

\- Just after I've woken up, like, twenty minutes ago. - she answered silently.

They stood in silence for a long moment. Bruce looked at the plushie, weighing it in his hand, before setting it on the desk.

\- Have you checked the locks? - he asked, already making his way towards the door.

\- Yeah, it's fine - Camille sighed and went to the kitchen.

She felt much better, now that Bruce was with her.

They were childhood friends, always near each other, since earliest days. Their parents had been friends in college and made a fortune with their respective companies. Both, the Wayne's and the Jaffe's made sure that their kids don't grow up to be spoiled brats. And they have succeeded, more or less.

\- We have to move you from here, I'll get Alfred to make a room for you in my penthouse - Bruce joined her in the kitchen, where she had already opened a bottle of beer.

\- I'm not going anywhere, Bruce - Camille shook her head.

\- Millie...

\- No, Bruce, absolutely not - she stood from her seat at the table - I'm not going to run, just 'cause some clown wants to taunt me, for some goddamn reason. This is my home.

Bruce sighed heavily, the exhaustion starting to wear him down. He sat at the table and put his head in his hands.

\- You can't stay here, who knows what this guy wants? What if the next time you'll wake up with him still here?

\- Then I guess I'll find out what the fuck does he want from me.

\- You're unbelievable.

\- And you're hurting.

Bruce gave up after that. Camille made her way towards the cupboard and pulled out a red med kit. Bruce watched her through the whole thing. She pulled out a large ball and filled it with warm water. After that she retrieved a small, fluffy towel and set everything on the table. In front of the man.

\- Alright, show me what you got - she said with a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

Bruce let a small smirk make little lines around his mouth. In one swift motion he pulled off his black sweater.

Camille trained herself to remain calm with shirtless Bruce in her home a long time ago. He was very fit man, months of fighting all the baddies made his chest hard as a rock. Before he left Gotham, Bruce was a pretty boy, with gentle features and a sort of sweetness in his eyes. The man that came back was cut from atone, all sharp lines and darkness, that almost seemed to envelop him. And yet, Camille didn't even blush, as her hands ghosted over the ugly bruises on his ribs.

This wasn't exactly something unusual for the both of them. When Bruce got hurt during his mission to save Gotham, he would come by Camille's apartment and let her do, what she did best. Care.

\- Remember, what you've told me, when you first found out who I was? - asked Bruce, while Camille cleaned a cut on his forehead.

\- "What the fuck"?

Bruce laughed slightly, his breath fanned her neck, and she looked down at him briefly, before resuming her work.

\- Yeah, after that.

\- I don't remember every conversation we've ever had, Bruce - she deadpanned and put a small amount of disinfecting cream on his wounds.

\- Fair enough - Bruce took a swing from her bottle of beer, but she didn't object - You said, that if it gets you killed, you will be very disappointed.

Camille sighed, already knowing where this conversation was leading to. They've talked about it many times, especially after the whole ordeal with the fear toxin and that absolute asshole Crane.

\- You're worried someone will tie me to your drag persona?

\- I'm worried I won't be able to protect you - Bruce let the joke slide and took the woman's hands in his much larger ones.

Camille noticed that his knuckles were scraped and almost instantly went to patch them up.

\- We don't know what this clown is after. The way he looked at you in that bank... And now this... Millie, I don't think you should take this so lightly.

Camille stopped her work and looked up at her friend, her eyebrows knitted together tightly.

\- You don't get it - she stated, earning two raised eyebrows and an "oh?" - Yeah. The guy wanted a reaction from me. He wanted to see what I would do, when he pointed his gun at that woman, and when he killed her afterwards. He did this, 'cause he was curious.

Bruce listened to her intently, making notes in his head. He liked talking to Camille about his ongoing investigations. She always gave him a different point of view.

\- And this whole thing? - she motioned to her living room - Another test. I won't give him the reaction he expects, Bruce. I'm not running away.

The man sat quietly, observing her, before nodding slightly. They were both very stubborn people. A trait, that made Alfred almost lose his patience. Almost being the key word, as Alfred was a national treasure, that always tolerated Bruce's and Camille's behavior.

\- Hey, Millie, I had a thought...

\- Mhm.

\- I was thinking, maybe you would like to go eat dinner with me. Tomorrow at 8.

Camille looked at him suspiciously.

\- Weren't you going with that ballerina girl?

Bruce laughed a bit before shaking his head.

\- I was, but then I remembered that I have a friend, that desperately needs to get out of her apartment more.

Camille pressed onto one of his scraped knuckles and Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, before chuckling.

\- I don't think it's a good idea - Camille shook her head with a serious expression - Besides, I don't need papers coming for my ass again. I've read enough rumors about us to last a lifetime.

The man in her chair laughed loudly. A small, sincere smile made his eyes soften and for a moment Camille could see the Bruce, that still had his parents around. A happy man, buried somewhere seep under all his anger.

She smiled back, placing a small band aid on his cheek.

\- I never cared about the press - admitted the man.

\- Well, maybe you should start.

They sat together in comfortable silence, sharing the one soda bottle. After they had finished, Bruce thanked Camille, took both the plushie and the scribbled text, and made his way towards the window.

It was well past 5 a.m., when he left her sitting in the small kitchen, ans she could feel the exhaustion some back to her.

She tidied the medical supplies and poured out slightly red water from the bowl. She could do the washing up later. The seat, previously occupied by Bruce had a rather large smear of blood right where his back used to be. Camille inspected it with a sigh. Bruce might've shown her his scratches and scraped knuckles, but the worst injuries always stayed hidden from her.

Another way he was trying to protect her from the influence of Batman.

The place, where the plushie used to sit was empty. There could be some traces of DNA on it, maybe a stray hair or some dead skin, or anything that could give some indication about whom the hell was this clown. Deep down inside Camille knew this wasn't just some sloppy criminal. Maybe he had an unnerving obsession with clown makeup, and maybe he had never heard of a shampoo, but still. To plan a robbery like that...

_And the fucking buss..._

It was getting close to 6 am, and Camille felt like a small nap was in order. She still had two whole hours before she had to drive Roselyn to the police station. And the weekend was starting, which meant she didn't have to go to the paper with her texts.

Camille sat on her couch and waited for the tiredness of the morning to cover her entirely. She looked to the side at the blanket. It was fluffy and warm, and it definitely wasn't there when she arrived after the robbery.

A sudden thought made itself known in the woman's brain. Scratching at her consciousness and demanding attention, but Camille shook her head and shoved it back, deciding that she hadn't noticed the blanket.

It was nothing. It _had _to be nothing.

Two hours later Camille was backing her car out of one of the garages. Her not-so-modern Toyota rolled slowly onto the street. Camille loved her car with all her might. Driving was the closest thing to actual fun she had in years.

Roselyn was already waiting in front of her block of flats, rapping her foot lightly on the pavement. She looked nervous. In her hand Camille noticed a rolled up paper, but she couldn't see the headline.

\- Get in loser, we're gonna catch a criminal - Camille shouted, when Roselyn opened the door to the front seat.

\- Spare me.

Camille looked at her friend with pity clear on her face.

\- Jesus, something really bothers you, hmm?

Roselyn just nodded her head and looked outside the window. Camille risked a glance towards the folded paper and almost rammed her car into the nearby building.

She was looking at her own face, staring off into the distance. She knew this picture. It was taken by a reporter right after the funeral of her parents. She looked much younger, with shorter hair and a black dress that exposed virtually none of her skin.

\- Why am I in the papers, Rosie

Roselyn snapped out of her thoughts and crumbled the paper in her fingers. Whatever the article was about, it was anything but good.

Camille sighed and dropped the subject. They drove in silence, only the sound of a song on the radio was heard in the car.

The police department was situated in a tall building. Gordon's team, which Roselyn was a part of, was situated on the lowest floor. They both entered the building. Camille decided to stay awhile with her friend, until Gordon got tired of her presence and flings her out of the window.

\- Well, well, well...

Camille could already feel the headache coming, as a familiar, male voice rang out, when they entered the room.

\- Drop it Lonny - Roselyn barked to the man, that sat on the edge of his desk, smirking at the two women.

\- Looks like "Gotham's Angel" strikes again - Lonny Donovich was looking directly at Camille now, and she felt her cheeks heat up with anger.

\- The fuck you mean? - Camille nearly growled in her throat.

Lonny extended his hand towards her with a folded paper. She snatched it and looked over the first page, feeling an uncontrollable rage fill her. They were never on good terms, she and Lonny. They had met when Camille had decided to accompany Roselyn to the police station the first day of their little arrangement. Since then, it was a constant war between the two of them.

He was a tall, muscular man, with bright eyes and blonde hair. A perfect image of a fit policeman, that didn't have a single drop of humility. He was one of those people, who thought having a badge meant you could just say and do whatever the hell you wanted.

"_Gotham's Angel defeated_"

Camille looked over the rather short text and the two pictures on both sides of the article. One was of her, the one she saw in the car. Black dress, short hair, sad eyes. The other was of the hole, the get-away bus made in the wall of Gotham's bank.

"_Camille Jaffe, known mostly as the only child of Robert and Kate Jaffe, now being connected to a figure of Bruce Wayne, was an unexpected hero of the robbery, that took place yesterday in Gotham's City Bank. _

_On the surveillance camera, Camille Jaffe is seen defending a hurt woman from attackers, going as far as to shield her with her own body. _

_Despite Miss Jaffe's best efforts, the woman was shot by a man in a clown face paint. _

_Miss Jaffe is known for keeping herself under the radar, despite her fortune, only emerging from the solitude of her flat to make monthly donations to a local orphanage_."

\- Well, it could've been worse - commented Roselyn, while looking over her friend's shoulder.

Camille set down the paper on one of the desks, her hands were shaking again.

\- They didn't mention her name - Camille muttered.

\- Hmm?

\- Her name was Roselyn Johnson.

The room fell quiet for a while. Camille sighed heavily and made her way towards the door, suddenly much more content on sitting alone in her flat, than spending anymore time at the police station.

She pecked Roselyn on the cheek and left without a single word, throwing Lonny a dirty look as she went by him. Was she being rude? Maybe. But God knows, she was not going to stay and prove to everyone how much of a beautiful angel she really was. Especially Lonny, that absolute buffoon.

The nickname came right after the car accident.

"Gotham's Angel caught in a deadly crash" said all the headlines. She remembered reading the article in the hospital.

They had focused on her struggle to stay alive. How much of a loss would her death be to the collective soul of Gotham. They hadn't even mentioned her friends. Not a single name had been written, besides her own. It made her sick to her stomach. It made her hate her parents, their company, and the money, that undoubtedly focused the paper's attention only on her.

After that "Angel" appeared in papers when her parents died.

She was angry and grieving, and being crushed by internal sense of guilt. And she hated them. The whole wide world. She hated her parents for dying. She hated Bruce for leaving her on her own. She hated the reporters for the fucking "Angel". But most importantly, she hated herself for reasons she didn't even have time to list.

Later, there were a couple more "Angels". After her donations, after dinners with Bruce. But this one. This one was so much worse.

Because the hurt didn't happen to her. It was Roselyn Johnson that had died, the only casualty of the robbery. And she had died, because of Gotham's Angel, although no one beside her knew that. Well, her and one other person.

As the thought of a painted man crossed her mind, she couldn't help but to dwell on it. Of course, it was only a matter of time, before her gets himself caught. With Bruce taking the text the clown left in her apartment it won't be long 'till they find something on him. He was just a man. A tall, crazy dude. There was no way he just emerged from the ground without any traces of his prior existence.

Camille slammed her apartment door and immediately sat on her desk.

The lonely writing machine looked at her expectantly. The woman searched for blank paper around and when she had finally found it, she placed it in the machine and cracked her knuckles.

Her apartment was small, almost unbearably stuffy. The biggest room was the living room, with two big windows, currently in full view, with the blinds rolled up.

There was a lot of stuff in her home. Pieces of clothing, crumbled paper, markers. Small trinkets, laying on the ground, just waiting for someone to step on them. Her favorite room had to be her bedroom. It was full of warm light, potted plants, and from the first time she moved in it became her sanctuary of peace.

A sound of a loud electric guitar filled the apartment, as Camille switched on her music player. She tapped her foot on the carped to the drums and started to furiously type at her writing machine. SHe wrote a story about Rosalie Johanson, a woman, who was the only survivour of a shop robbery. Her Rosalie was brilliant and kind, and alive.

A.N.

This one is a bit shorter, but the next will deliver, I promise.

For the first few chapters we are going to follow the cannonical pathe, the movie took. After that it's freedom for us, baby!

I would also like to take this time, to thank the first person who followed me and this story ** emilyh13 **Love you dude!


	3. Devil Town

Next few days went by almost too calmly. Camille gave her manuscript to the paper and already started to work on another story. She was sitting in her living room, eating a box of Chinese takeout and watching a cooking show on her TV. It was getting late, the town slowed down, as people settled themselves in their homes.

She was waiting for a call from Bruce, who at this moment traveled undercover to China. Something about bringing back a clerk of Maroni's. She didn't ask. It was safer for her that way.

The man in her TV started to assemble his dish in a very unappetizing way. Camille snorted to herself, chewing a piece of sweet and sour chicken. Suddenly, her phone rang out, and she nearly bolted to the table.

\- How's the trip, rich boy?

\- Going smoothly, rich girl - thankfully, Bruce talked in his normal voice, which meant his plan was yet to be executed - It's going to get dark soon, but I wanted to make sure you're okay.

Camille rolled her eyes and put a large piece of broccoli in her mouth.

\- I'm fine, when are you going back?

\- Couple of hours. I'll drop Lau off at the station and then maybe I'll take you for that coffee I promised.

Camille laughed slightly and heard Bruce chuckle as well. She leaned back in her sofa and took a glass of orange juice in her hands.

\- That would be nice, you did promise a full breakfast though. Not just coffee - she reminded him with a smile.

\- I'll see you tomorrow, Millie. Keep safe.

\- You keep safe - countered Camille before hanging up.

She threw her phone onto the small table and finished her food. After that, she made her way towards her bedroom and opened the door to her closet.

Rows of clothes looked back at her in expectation. She sighed. Roselyn wanted them to go out this night. There was a small club not far from the city center. It was Maroni's, but they played good music and the drinks were cheap, so the women looked past its criminal ownership.

Camille chose a black bodysuit and a lace cardigan. She brushed her hair and put on quite heavy makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized with a crooked smile, that her appearance reminded her of hookers stalking around Old Town. Truly, a sight to behold. Gotham's Angel at her finest.

\- Holy shit, you look like a hooker! - screamed Roselyn, when she saw her friend emerge from her apartment.

\- I know, right? - Camille screamed back, with a large smile on her dark lips.

\- But, like, an expensive hooker, you know?

Camille snorted a laugh and both women made their way towards the taxi that Roselyn had ordered. Walking around at night in Gotham was almost like an invitation to get your purse and dignity stolen. Especially now, when Batman was committing abduction somewhere in China.

Both women seated themselves in the backseat of their Uber, laughing and talking about their day.

Apparently Roselyn took a part in a secret mission, meant to collect illegal founds from all the banks across Gotham. The whole job went to nothing though. As it turned out, all the money had been moved before the police could get to it. Camille connected the two dots together. That's why Bruce needed that one guy back in Gotham. She leaned back in her seat and watched the street lights pass by, as the drove to the club.

Roselyn was a sight to behold, in a tight dress that made her curves even more prominent and high heels. She looked like a Hollywood star. She even made sure her hair didn't look too fried before putting them in a high ponytail.

Camille felt a bit overshadowed by her friend's amazing taste in fashion, but she didn't complain. She enjoyed their nights out mostly because all the annoying men went up to her friend, leaving her in relative peace.

The bouncer gave them a quick once over, as they exited their taxi and made their way to the club. He didn't ask for their ID, he did however take a double glance at Roselyn and Camile could swear she saw recognition in his eyes. Suddenly she questioned if arriving to a Maroni club with a cop was a bright idea.

As they entered the establishment they were hit with a sudden wave of hot air and a strong smell of artificial smoke, sweat and alcohol. Camille felt like something was off, there was a burning sensation on the back of her neck, but she decided to ignore it, washing all her worries away with a fruity drink.

Roselyn and Camille jumped around each other and held hands, while absolutely destroying their hip joints from swaying so hard. The music was loud and pumping, and full of sexual innuendos that would make a stripper blush, and Camille loved every minute of it. She could feel a gentle tug of alcohol on her brain and the strong beat slamming away in her chest.

Roselyn was smiling, her eyes were sparkling under the neon lights. It was a good night. The two women stopped their dancing as another song came to an end. They made their way towards the bar, but before they could reach it, Roselyn stood on their tiptoes and shouted into Camille's ear.

\- I gotta pee!

\- Okay!

Both women made their way to the toilets through a crowd of sweaty people. Camille waited outside for Roselyn to finish her business. She stood there, right outside the women's bathroom, picking at her nails. The music was muted through a thick metal door. Bathrooms were situated in a narrow corridor that ended with another set of metal doors. Camille could hear Roselyn wash her hands, when a man brushed past her.

He was tall and very wide. His footsteps were heavy and sounded like he had limped a bit with his left leg. Camille looked up at him, as the material of his dusty coat with her arm. Her heart stopped for a millisecond.

He was wearing a clown mask. A very happy clown mask, that looked like it had been to hell and back, with dirt and something else covering its sides.

Thankfully, the man hadn't noticed her, too occupied with his own thoughts. She watched him, as he made his way towards the last metal door. Opening it slightly and slipping himself into the room behind them. Despite her best efforts, Camille couldn't see past his large form. She just stood there, gaping.

\- Who the hell was that? - asked Roselyn in a hushed tone, and made Camille literally jump out of her skin.

After calming her nerves she looked at her friend, who was observing the door furrowed brows.

\- You saw the...?

\- The mask, yeah.

\- Just like the...?

\- The robbery, I know.

\- What do we do?

Roselyn looked at her friend with a determined expression and Camille knew she just stepped into some deep shit. Never take a police officer to a potentially involved in mafia club.

\- I'm gonna be so pissed, if I die because of this - Camille hissed, as the other woman took her friends hand and walked towards the door.

Slowly, with shaking hands they opened it. Roselyn slid her head inside and soon after that entered the room fully.

Camille followed after her, already thinking what colored flowers would Bruce buy for her funeral. She gathered that he wouldn't buy her any flowers. He would just pour a bottle of whiskey on her grave and called it a day.

The room turned out to be another corridor, albeit shorter and more fancy. The lights were much warmer, the walls were adorned with little paintings. The contrast with the modern club just outside the door was striking.

They could hear voices at the end of the hall and both women realized that the only door at the end of the corridor were slightly opened. Camille could feel her curiosity get the better of her, as she silently moved forward.

\- So... - came a thickly accented voice of a man - You will do it? For half?

Camille crept up to the door with Roselyn close behind her. Holding her breath, she looked inside the room.

\- That was the, ah, the deal - an unusually high-pitched voice came from the other side of the room.

Roselyn;s hand tightened its hold on Camille, as the other woman sucked in a sharp breath.

He was here with them Sitting slightly hunched over, eyeing his business partners with a wary look. His scars dripped red, just like the day of the robbery. But he didn't look curious. He looked absolutely bored to death, playing with a sharpened pencil, rolling it in his gloved fingers and tapping the blunt end on the table.

\- Good, good... - said the same accented voice almost wistfully - This fucker has been threatening our little organization for far too long.

\- Mhmmmmmm... - came a low reply from the painted man.

He rolled his eyes ever so slightly, as if this whole meeting was giving him a headache.

And then his eyes met hers.

Camille's breath hitched in her throat, as she saw recognition flash through his featured. She held Roselyn's hand tighter, biting her nails into her friend's palm.

\- I see we have some, uh, company over there - the clown pointed a glowed finger in the direction of the door, a sinister smile stretching his lips.

The women heard movement in the room and in a flash of common sense turned around towards the bathrooms... And ran.

They bolted as fast as their heels allowed them, which was surprisingly fast, given both women weren't used to high heels. Roselyn moved forward, since despite her stature, she was much fitter. She slammed her body into the door and pulled Camille with her. They heard shouting behind her backs, but did not dare to look.

The crowd seemed to be even more tight, as the women tried to get through hoards of jumping people. Loud, pumping music suddenly became laced with a sinister undertone, as Roselyn hel Camille's wrist so tightly, the woman was afraid she would pull her hand right off.

It was Camille that turned to look back first. She could see men in leather jackets scanning the crowd from a balcony, right above the DJ's booth. Camille could've sworn she had seen them somewhere before. One of the men, a rather large person with sunglasses pushed on his forehead and hair slicked back against his skull looked right at her. His face twisted in an expression of rage, and he shouted to his men, pointing wildly at the two women.

Camille pushed Roselyn, prompting her to go faster, while they both made their way through the crowd. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of sweat and flying limbs, they reached the front door and basically fell out of the club. They didn't wait for the men to catch up to them. Camille took the lead, running down the street, tightening her hold on her friend's hand.

Fortunately, Camille's apartment was about a ten minutes of walking distance from the club. They made it in about three.

Once they were inside, Camille slammed the door and closed the locks. She rested her head on the wooden frame and fought desperately for her breathing to calm down. Roselyn stood backed into her living room, her hand in her hair, as she too tried to calm down.

Camille turned around to her friend, her face clear with horror. Roselyn responded with a terrified expression of her own.

\- Holy shit - Camille breathed, placing a shaking hand on her heart.

\- What the ever loving fuck? - asked Roselyn, sitting on her friend's couch and throwing her legs on the nearby table.

The two women stayed in silence just looking at each other, and then suddenly, both of them erupted into a fit of laughter. Nervous and filled with terror, but laughter nonetheless.

Camille started to fidget, making her way towards the window and closing the blinds, just to be safe. The painted guy was in her apartment after all. After making sure that every window in her home was properly shut, she went to the kitchen and retrieved two bottles of tequila flavored beer, before returning to Roselyn.

\- So - the woman started in a truly police-worthy fashion, downing half the bottle in one go - What do we know?

Camille took a bug gulp herself, and settled herself in the corner of her couch, pulling her knees towards her chest.

\- The clown guy from the Bank is working for Maroni.

Roselyn nodded her head slowly.

\- Whatever they want him for, he's doing it for "half". Now, I'm not saying thet this could mean the money this Lau guy shipped off to Hong Kong, but I mean, come on...

\- Jesus, that's a lot of money... - Camille sighed, her mind drifting briefly to Bruce and his mission - What do they want him to do? It must be something serious, if they are willing to pay this much.

Roselyn sat her bottle on the table. Her brows were furrowed and her expression looked utterly focused. Sometimes Camille would forget that her friend was a detective after all.

\- Well, it's safe to assume this has to be some sort of a bug operation. Something very important, and extremely difficult...

\- Yeah - Camille nodded and sighed, her head lolling back - Do you think those guys will be able t find us?

Roselyn shrugged and took out her phone, she typed for a while, then hid it back in her pocket.

\- I've texted Gordon, if anything happens, he'll know where to look.

The evening went by quietly. Both women spent it in each others' company. None of them wanted to be alone after the incident, so Roselyn decided to stay around. After a while of quietly talking and going through theories, regarding the painted man's involvement, both women drifted into light sleep.

_Camille dreamed of the painted man. His smile, widened by his scars dripping red onto her blanket. Those black, ruthless eyes, burning into her soul. A small knife in his hand, grazing her cheek from the corner of her lips right to her earlobe. Some delicate sound entered her dream. A shot? No. A passing car. _

Camille slowly got back to reality, opening her eyes and closing them almost instantly, when the light hit her. She groaned under her breath, rubbing at her eyelids, feeling every bone in her body crack.

\- Yes, sir - she heard Roselyn's voice - Right away, sir.

Camille finally felt her consciousness come back to her, and she stretched on the sofa. Roselyn was already up, pacing the living room with a phone in her hand.

\- They found Lau - she said, as soon as she noticed her friend had woken up - I have to go to the station.

Camille nodded, and got to her feet.

\- I'll drop you off, come on.

\- Batman literally dropped Lau off right at the stairs of the station - Roselyn exclaimed, as both women sat stuck in morning traffic - Whoever is hiding under that mask, he's a motherfucker.

Camille laughed softly, nodding her head. _Yup, sounds about right. _

\- You think they'll get a confession out of him?

Roselyn shrugged. She looked positively excited. Despite her disheveled look, her eyes were bright and ready to face her boss. It was a nice change, watching her friend be actually happy to go to work. Roselyn was eternally grateful for her station in Gordon's department, but sometimes, more often than not, she felt utterly helpless. Things got better when Batman appeared, but Gotham was still far from ideal.

For idealistic people like Roselyn, working in the GCPD was a walking nightmare, with corruption hiding in almost every action. Only Gordon seemed to be an actual honest person, dead set on making Gotham a better place.

\- I hope so, maybe they'll get him to testify in court - said Roselyn with an almost dreamy expression on her face - This could potentially be the case, Millie. And I'm gonna be part of it.

\- I'm happy for you, Rosie.

Roselyn smiled widely and Camille responded with a smile of her own.

They got to the police station a couple of minutes later. Both women made their way towards the cells, where Lau was being interrogated.

Camille felt slightly out of place, surrounded by policemen and lawyers, running around and talking between themselves. She decided to keep close to Roselyn, until they throw her out.

The blonde woman walked fast towards the glass window, that overlooked the interrogation room. The whole place was dingy and unpleasant, but the room in question looked by far the worse, with dirty, white tiles and lights, that made everyone look unhealthy.

\- Bailey, finally - Gordon looked tired as always, with sunken eyes and a deep frown under his mustache - Help Ramirez with a background check on Lau, we need everything we can get.

Roselyn immediately turned and walked away, and just as Camille was meant to follow her, a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up at Gordon, who gave her a signature sad smile.

\- Camille, I want you to meet someone - the man said, turning her slightly.

\- Harvey Dent, nice to meet you.

Before her stood a tall man. His blonde hair has dangling in front of his eyes which held specific sort of intensity in them. She knew him, obviously, from all the posters and cheap slogans. "I believe in Harvey Dent". Jesus Crist.

\- Camille Jaffe, pleasure to meet you as well - she gave him her hand, and he shook it firmly, like a true politician.

Dent laughed slightly, his eyes crinkling.

\- Oh, I know who you are - he said with a smile, and Camille felt her smile flatten - Rachel told me a lot about you.

Rachel Dowes, of course. She was Bruce's best friend growing up, much like Camille. Even though they had spent hours upon hours together, Camille wouldn't call Rachel a friend. More like a colleague, or something less. They had some good memories together, some shopping trips to the mall, some awful romantic comedies in the movie theater, but other than that, they weren't close.

\- Well, I hope she left out some parts, wouldn't be good for my reputation - Camille said almost bitterly, looking through the window into the interrogation room.

There sat Rachel, with her legs crossed in a nonchalant way, and a crooked smile plastered on her delicate features. She was in her element. On the other side of a metal table sat a rather thin, Chinese man, looking at her from under furrowed brows. Next to him sat a man, that Camille gathered was Lau's attorney.

\- Ah yes, the Gotham's Angel - said Dent, and Camille felt herself get more and more uncomfortable - A bit boring, in my opinion.

Camille looked up to the man, who was watching Rachel through the window. He looked down at her, and she saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. Suddenly he didn't seem that awful. He was still a politician, and Camille still hated them, but he was almost starting to get better.

\- Gordon, I'm gonna head back home - Camille turned to the older man next to her - Good luck on your case. Good bye, mister Dent.

\- See you at the party, miss Jaffe.

Camille stopped mid turn, and looked at the still smiling man with confusion clear on her features.

\- What party?

Dent seemed as confused as her.

\- Bruce Wayne is hosting a founding party for my campaign, I thought you would be the first to know.

_Gee, I wonder why..._

\- Yeah, well in that case, I'll see you at the party, If I get invited.

Dent inclined his head towards her, and she walked away, faster than what was considered well-mannered, but at this moment she couldn't care less. Something about Dent rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was the way he talked, like he was trying to sell a product. Maybe it was the air of recklessness around him, kile he would do anything if it meant achieving his goal. All she was sure of, was that there was something off about Harvey Dent.

Camille exited the station, followed by whistling Lonny, which almost made her snap at him. Once she got out into the streets, she realized, she hadn't eaten anything in the morning, and her tummy made a confirming noise.

She made her way towards the nearest grocery store through the crowded street, fully intending to get something big and full of calories. Bruce hadn't called her with the breakfast, so she had to take care of herself.

As she opened the door to the shop, the woman behind the counter gave her a quick once-over and an expression of poorly disguised disgust washed over her features. Camille shrugged and made her way deeper into the shelfs, searching for something to eat. She picked up a mango yogurt and two doughnuts in a plastic container. Sfter a while of intense debate in her head, she decided to get something to drink.

She stood in front of a wall of fridges, tapping her foot and deciding whether to pick up a fizzy drink or a big bottle of water.

\- I would take the, uh, soda, if I were you - commented a voice right beside her, making her jump in fright.

Camille turned and almost bumped into a tall man, reaching for a bottle over her shoulder. He was wearing a baseball cap and an anti-smog mask, with gigantic, dirty green hoodie covering most of his form.

Something about him made Camille feel strangely uneasy. His eyes, she realized, were almost completely black, only faint specs of chocolate brown swam in the void. They were intense, but not Harvey-like intense. It was as if he was spilling into them, like his very soul was in them, chaotic and ready to burst at any moment.

Camille noted in her head that this man's eyes were absolutely stunning. She could feel her cheeks flush almost instantly, and she turned towards the fridge, so the man couldn't see her face.

\- Yeah, thanks, but I think I'll go for the water - she muttered and took the rather heavy bottle, balancing it on top of the doughnuts.

\- Following a healthier lifestyle, eh? Trying to stay, ah, trendy? - he talked in a very specific way, accenting words weirdly.

His eyes were darting across her face, flickering between her eyes, her lips, the way her throat moved as she swallowed thickly. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. Like he was hunting, fishing for a reaction, soaking in the discomfort she felt.

\- Nah, I'm just hungover - Camille said matter-of-factly, before catching her own reflection in the glass doors of the refridgerator.

She looked like a mess, and not even a hot one.

Her hair were standing all in different directions, her makeup was smudged all over the place and her clothes... Well they were a sight to behold. If she looked like an Old Town hooker before, today was even worse. She felt heat rise up to her cheeks again. This day was going great.

The man laughed softly behind his mask. It was so quiet, that one could easily mistake it for the wind coming from the air conditioner. Camille noticed that the highest points of his cheeks were slightly reddened and irritated, like he used the wrong type of cream or something like that.

\- Let me help you with that, dollface - the man offered, reaching for the bottle barely standing on the plastic container.

\- You don't ha- - but the man already took the water, extending his hand and inviting her to move towards the cash register.

She gave him a grateful smile, before taking the lead and paying for the breakfast. The cashier gave her one last dirty look, as Camille took the change.

The mystery man offered to take her water bottle right to her car and suddenly Camille believed that maybe, just maybe, this Godforsaken town wasn't as bad as it seemed.

He was looking at her, she noticed, as they walked towards her Toyota. She caught hum staring, but to her surprise he didn't react. His eyes were fliskering around her face, to her hands, as she ran them through her hair, and back to her eyes, lips, neck, and hands again. He almost seemed unable to focus his sight on one thing. Like he tried to cram as much information as possible into his brain.

They got her car and Camille loaded her breakfast to the passengers seat.

\- Thank you so much - she said to the stranger, as he noded his head towards her.

\- Always happy to help, ah, pretty face in need - the man said, and she could see in his eyes, that he was smiling under the mask.

She replied with a soft smile of her own, feeling her cheeks heat up yet again.

\- Well, anyway, I gotta go. Have a good day, sir - Camille flashed a toothy grin and opened the doors to her car.

The man nodded again and started to turn around. Camille noticed his sunken stature as he put his hands into his pockets. She was just about to get in her car, when she heard him call over his shoulder.

\- See you around, pumpkin.

A.N.

Heyyy! I would like to thank all the people that have followed this story ** Fall-Back-Down**,** The-Dark-Lve-Writer **and ** kristina6042 **You're the best!


	4. Future Foe Scenarios

\- Hey, Millie, sorry I didn't take you out for that breakfast, what's going on?

Bruce sounded exceptionally lighthearted through the phone. Camille sat on the couch in her living room, a red sharpie in her hand and a small pile of papers on her knees.

\- Yeah, there is... Well, there was a thing happening last night - said Camille, suddenly flustered by her own stupidity - I went to a club with Rosie...

\- Oh boy, here we go - she could hear him mutter.

\- _The Haze_, you know, down the street?

\- It's Maroni's - noticed Bruce.

\- Yeah... Well... Yeah, but that's beside the point... Kinda.

\- You went to a Maroni-owned club with a police officer - stated the man with annoyance clear in his voice.

Camille groaned, the papers fell to the ground as she suddenly stood from the couch.

\- Unimportant, Bruce! - she nearly screamed - The point is, we might have eavesdropped on a couple of gangsters having a meeting in the back room...

\- You what?

\- ...And from what I could tell, they seemed to hire the clown guy, you know, from the robbery? And they're paying him half, whatever that means, but I'm sure is a lot of money?

Bruce went quiet for a second and Camille knew she got his attention.

\- Are you sure? - the man asked and Camille nodded her head vigorously, despite him not being able to see her.

\- Yeah, I saw him too, the clown, he was there talking with the gangsters, but I didn't hear anything more than what I've already told you.

Bruce fell quiet again and Camille turned back to the couch, picking at the hem of her shirt with her free arm. She waited for him to speak first, looking over her texts, currently scribbled over with red. So many things to correct, so many mistakes. Truly, a metaphor of her life.

\- Thank you, Millie, for telling me this - said Bruce, suddenly much more serious and tired - Could you please stay out of trouble for a couple of days? I can't save the city and babysit you.

\- Okay, I get it. You're mad about the club - Camille sighed and planted herself on the couch, feeling a bit deflated.

\- Yeah, I'm mad about the club! What were you thinking?! - Bruce raised his voice.

\- That I could get some cheap drinks and dance 'till my feet fall off?

\- Jesus, I can't... - Bruce took a long, deep inhale, trying to calm his nerves - You're invited to a party.

Camille smiled. Of course she was.

Ever since Dent mentioned it at the police station, she was picking a dress in her mind. She didn't have too big of a choice, since she owned a total of four dresses. First was the black one from the paper, the one that covered her almost completely and held too many bad memories to count.

The second was a short floral dress, that she wore once to a summer party thrown by Bruce on his birthday. It was the same night his mansion went up in flames. The dress was digging uncomfortably under her boob area.

Another was super short and pink, and Camille hated it with burning passion. Roselyn bought it for her on her birthday, but she would rather die than wear the tight fabric.

The last one was red and silky, and was the best pick for an event such as this. Even though it made Camille very aware of her body, and was meant to be worn without a bra, which she absolutely despised, she really didn't have a choice.

\- Well, send me the details and I'll see what I can do, you know my schedule is pretty tight.

\- Whatever. It's today in my penthouse. Be there at 8 p.m. and don't be late - Bruce sounded absolutely done with her, hanging up before she even had a chance to reply.

Camile threw her phone onto the table and picked up her papers, before resuming her work, scratching out parts of text and going absolutely wild with the red sharpie.

She loved her job. She really did.

It was peaceful and gave her the artistic freedom she desperately chased. After her small encounter with medical school, she decided she never wanted to be constricted by rules ever again. Especially since they regarded the potential saving of a person's life. Perhaps it was because she attended her studies when Gotham was at it's peak crime rate, and even the hospital walls were deeply soaked in corruption. Maybe, she hated it because finishing this school was expected of her, and she was going through her rebellion phase, although it never truly ended.

She learned how to save lives, but other than that, she never felt the pull towards this career path. It was mostly her parents' idea, the whole medical fiasco, she didn't object at first. She didn't know how. She was an obedient, lovely girl. Their little Angel.

An hour after her phone call with Bruce, Camille ordered takeout and decided to get some work done.

The story she was writing now was about a disfigured man, who had found a ring, capable of turning back time. The ring, unfortunately, was damaged and could only work once, before it would break. The man wanted to use it, to prevent an accident that resulted in him getting scars all over his face, but ultimately sacrificed it for an older woman stuck in a depressive state, after her husband had died.

The story still needed some changes and an ending line that would tie it all together, but overall Camille was pretty happy with it. She named the man Eric. For old times sake.

Her food arrived not long after she had ordered it and Camille almost instantly ate it. smearing sauce on her lips. She turned on the TV and switched between channels, until she found a news station. They were playing a weather forecast. Next few days were going to be sunny and beautiful.

Her phone started to ring and Camille groaned, standing up.

\- Camille Jaffe on the phone - she said, trying to sound less irritated than she felt.

\- Holy shit Millie! - came a loud shout from Roselyn - We just busted, like, all of Maroni's men. I think we have the whole Gotham mafia in our arrest.

Camille sputtered on her noodles, spitting out a small piece of chicken, that landed perfectly on one of the pages she had been correcting.

\- What? How? WHAT? - Camille's voice was high, as she paced around her living room.

\- Well - Roselyn sounded positively ecstatic - We pulled a confession out of Lau. He gave us what we needed to prosecute those bastards. Turns out, they were joining funds. Anyways, Gordon gathered every policeman he could, and we just went, and arrested everyone. There's a court case happening right as we speak.

\- Holy shit! That's amazing! - Camille smiled brightly as her brain started to spin around, trying to piece together a possible outcome of this historical moment - The bigger figures will pay bail money, but the lesser criminals will get at least a couple of months. If the major gets his shit together, we really will be living in a better Gotham.

Camille heard her friend laugh at the other side. That really was good news. Maybe, just maybe, after all this was over, Bruce could hand his Super Suit up and join the real world. Maybe she would get him to buy her that breakfast he had promised.

Things were finally looking up around them. After that little problem with the fear gas and the Skytrain blowing to hell, Camille was sure she would never see the city calm down. The Batman helped of course, but the more he pushed the criminals back into the shadows, the more they pushed back. That would undoubtedly be the case with whoever organized this little operation.

You could say a lot about Gotham's criminals, but forgetful wasn't one of them.

\- Dent really is something, huh? - Roselyn sighed - This whole thing was his idea.

\- No way - Camille laughed, remembering her inner distaste towards the man - I didn't think he would be able to outsmart anyone like that. Not with that awful slogan.

\- Oh come on, Millie - Roselyn laughed loudly - Don't you believe in Harvey Dent?

\- You know, after this, I might start.

The women talked for several more minutes, sharing their thoughts on recent events and talking absolute, unfiltered shit about the new DA.

The weather forecast was suddenly stopped, as a headline in red appeared at the bottom of the screen. In the background, the news station showed a video of police officers taking down a lifeless body of someone in a painfully familiar costume, from the side of a tall building.

_Oh, Jesus..._

"_Batman Dead?_" the headline screamed at her with its read letters. She could hear Roselyn talking in her ear, but it seemed like the woman's voice was a background for her racing thoughts.

_Oh, fuck..._

\- We interrupt today's forecast to inform that around 4 p.m. a dead body of a man in Batman's costume was found hanged from the tenth story window of Gotham's city hall. Authorities confirmed that the man was killed prior to being hanged, most likely by a sharp object being stabbed into his jugular.

Camille covered her lips with her hand, to stop a whimper from escaping.

\- The recording we are about to play was sent to our news station this morning, with demands to play it at this exact moment. We must issue a warning, as it contains themes that may be disturbing to some viewers.

The news changed from the shot of the man being pulled down, to an old warehouse. It looked like the footage was recorded by an old camera, scenes glitching and flickering from time to time.

A man in a cheap version of a Batman's costume sat tied down to a chair in the middle of the room.

\- Tell them your name.

Camille froze as a very familiar voice entered the recording.

\- Brian Douglas - the tied man said, his voice strained.

It was obvious he was in pain. The man behind the camera laughed a high-pitched laugh.

\- Are you the real Batman? - he sounded like a child in Disneyland, talking to a walking mascot of Goofy.

\- No.

\- No?

\- No...

Brian sounded more and more panicked, his head rolled from side to side as his eyes flickered around the room.

\- No? Then why do you dress up _like him?! - _the sudden roughness in the recording man's voice made Camille jump.

A gloved hand came into the view and roughly pulled off the Batman's mask from Brian's face. The man dangled a rubber copy of the mask in front of the camera, laughing like a maniac.

\- 'Cause he's a symbol that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you.

Camille had to congratulate Brian on his bravery. Despite his situation and the panic clear in his shaking voice, he didn't back down. At least for a while.

\- Oh, but you do, Brian - the camera panned closer to the man's crying face and a gloved hand squeezed his jaw - _You really do. _

Brian started to hyperventilate, tears running down his chubby cheeks. The gloved hand patted him on the face in a manner that was a mockery of comforting.

\- Oh, shushhhhh shush. So, you think Batman has made Gotham a better place? Hmm?

Brian turned away from the man and looked at the floor. Beads of sweat were running down his forehead.

\- Look at me. LOOK AT ME.

Camille yelped. Her heart was beating unbearably fast and her whole body was shaking. With tears forming in her eyes, she watched, as Brian flinched and looked up at the man.

Suddenly the camera was turned. Camille's breath hitched as a familiar face showed up on screen. She knew it was him all along, of course, but seeing his mutilated face, with all the makeup, made her jump nonetheless.

\- You see, this is how _crazy _Batman's made Gotham - the painted man explained to the camera, smiling widely - If you want order in Gotham Batman must take his mask off and turn himself in.

At this point, the phone Camille held in her hand fell onto the ground. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

\- Oh, and everyday he doesn't people will die - he turned his head towards Brian, then back to the camera, and gave a sickening grin - Starting today. _I'm a man of my word. _

The recording stopped abruptly, when he jumped towards the tied man, his laughter filling Camille's living room, making blood rush from her face. She turned off the TV ans sat on the couch. The robbery, the club, the store. She saw the man three times already, which was more than any living person she knew about could say. And of course there was the apartment break in.

Why hasn't he killed her yet?

He had multiple occasions, and yet, she was still here, still breathing. There must have been something he wanted from her, and the thought made the woman shiver. Suddenly she became much more aware, how easily this painted clown could break her. So many people she cared about, so many weak spots, just waiting to be exploited.

\- Bruce, tell me you're okay - Camille sighed into the phone, after she had dialed the man's number.

\- I'm fine.

He didn't sound fine. Ho could he be? His very identity was being threatened and Camille knew if the clown really kept to his word, Bruce would turn himself in. It was only a mater of time.

\- Please, please Bruce, don't do anything reckless - Camille pleaded, just in case.

\- I'll see you at the party, Camille.

Bruce hung up and Camille felt her eyes water. The threatening recording obviously took a great toll on her friend's consciousness. He didn't deserve this. He was a good person, even though he didn't believe it himself. But that was alright. She would be there to remind him, no matter what.

Drying her tears roughly with the back of her hand, Camille decided to start getting ready for the party. Starting with a very hot, very relaxing shower.

She spent another hour on shaving, untangling her curly hair and painting her nails. Truly, this was the most womanly alone time she's had in years, not counting the funeral, which was messed up in a way.

Clumsily, she began to paint her face, making sure every freckle and pimple was completely covered, before moving to eyes and lining them heavily with dark eye shadows. She owned exactly two lipsticks. One was the color of wine and the second one reminded her of chocolate. She decided on the first one, taking three tries, before her lips looked acceptable.

She was ready around 7 p.m., which was the perfect time, as Bruce's penthouse was seated a couple of blocks away from her apartment.

Camille slipped on a red dress and turned around, looking at herself in the mirror.

In her eyes, she looked beyond weird.

The dress showed off a large portion of her cleavage and hung on her body loosely, like it was slightly too big for her boyish frame. She didn't feel uncomfortable, showing off this much skin. She accepted her body a long time ago, especially now, after the accident.

Her chest was small, her hips were flat, and her limbs were seemingly too long and lanky. It not for her feminine features and curly, brown hair falling to her shoulders, she could pass as a man. Well, maybe a boy.

Camille smiled to herself, with red lips, and slipped her red shoes on. Red on red, on red. It had to be trendy somewhere. She decided to pick a small leather purse, just to hold her wallet and phone. Jewelry wasn't needed. She didn't feel the pressure to show her wealth.

Camille ordered a taxi twenty minutes before the party was scheduled to start. Making sure she locked all the locks in her apartment, she made her way downstairs and into the waiting car. The roads were pretty clear at this hour, and she made it into the penthouse exactly five minutes before 8 p.m..

The place looked just like she had remembered, full of light and windows overlooking the city.

\- Miss Jaffe, how good to see you again - said an elderly man in a tux, right when the elevator doors had opened, revealing Camille inside.

She smiled widely, feeling a sudden wave of warmth wash over her. Alfred was a figure constantly present in her life. Since the very day she had been introduced to the Wayne family as her parents' daughter, he took great care of her, whenever she had arrived to Wayne's residence. He was a guardian most children could only dream of, and Camille loved him. Truly loved him, like he was a part of her own family. Maybe even more.

After her parents had died and Bruce left Gotham, it was Alfred who tried to convince her of living in the old Jaffe residence. He even proposed she lived in the Wayne's family home for a while. Anything for her not to be alone. Although she initially refused, finding comfort in solitude of her small apartment, they kept meeting for a coffee and a story, at least until Bruce returned.

\- Alfred - Camille greeted the man with a gentle hug around a silver plate he was holding - I've missed you so much.

The older man gave her a flustered laugh, as they parted. For some reason he to be eternally shocked when someone showed his any kindness. Camille never asked him about his life before working for the Wayne family, and she sensed the older man didn't want to talk about it either.

\- I've missed you too, dear girl - Alfred smiled and extended his hand, inviting Camille inside - Although I must say, I wasn't expecting you to arrive at all.

Camille laughed softly and took a glass of champagne from a nearby table.

\- Yes, well, you know me, I wouldn't pass an opportunity to annoy Bruce.

The older man laughed and left her in the room, excusing himself, as another guests arrived in the elevator.

The penthouse was already full of people. Most of them were Gotham's finest businessmen, mingling with each other, sharing stories and laughs. For every fat, old man there was at least one woman in a bright dress, with the same hair and the same shoes.

Camille felt slightly unnerved by that, even though she knew her name held enough significance for any perverted old man to stop considering her as a prize for the night.

\- And so, we meet again - came a familiar voice beside Camille, and the woman turned to find a rather stressed looking Harvey Dent, smiling at her.

By his side, dressed in a long, green gown, stood Rachel, flashing her warmest smile to the woman. Camille sighed in relief. There were at least three people she knew in this penthouse.

\- Yes, I got the invitation, albeit a bit late - she laughed, and turned her attention towards Rachel - I haven't seen you for a while. How are things?

Rachel shrugged, taking Harvey's hand in hers.

They looked pretty together. Two forces of nature, hellbent on making Gotham a place of justice. Harvey bent down and kissed Rachel's rosy cheek. The woman laughed and slightly punched him in the shoulder. This made Camille's brows shoot upwards.

Wasn't she meant to wait for Bruce to finish his crusade against the criminals of Gotham?

Of course Camille couldn't blame the woman for wanting to be something more than another man's means of escape. She did however care for Bruce, far more than she ever cared about Rachel.

\- I was shocked Bruce threw this fundraiser, it was very kind of him - Rachel commented, looking around penthouse.

\- Yes, me too - Harvey agreed, nodding his head - To me, he always seemed like a bit of a knob.

\- Well then, I'm sure you two will find an understanding - Camille smiled crookedly, as Dent looked at her with one raised eyebrow.

Rachel laughed awkwardly and stepped in front of her partner, blocking him from Camille's line of sight.

\- So, how's your work coming along? - the woman asked with a smile - I bought the newest paper, your stories are fantastic, Millie.

Camille could feel her cheeks heat up. She wasn't used to receiving compliments in this particular field. It still amazed her, when people appreciated her writing, since it was more something she did as a hobby, than an actual career path. She was fortunate enough to have this possibility, to choose what to do in life and make mistakes along the way. Many people, especially in Gotham, didn't have this luxury.

\- That's very nice of you - Camille took a sip from her glass - It's still surprising to know that people enjoy my texts.

\- You should really expand on that - encouraged Rachel - Write a book or something.

\- Yeah, maybe someday... Anyways, what about you? - Camille tried to redirect the conversation - I'm sure your job is much more interesting, especially after that arresting.

Rachel waved her hand dismissively.

\- Oh, that was mostly Harvey's job - she looked up at her partner - Gotham's hero, no mask needed.

Perhaps, the hurt Camille felt was irrational, since Rachel was, in a way, right. Harvey did what Batman tried to achieve without slipping into a costume and running around the city under cover of darkness. And yet, she felt like this whole affair was dismissing Bruce's work to make Gotham a better place.

He had sacrifice everything, including his future with Rachel, to herlp this town. Comparing him to a sweet-talking politician was, in Camille's opinion, inappropriate.

She couldn't voice her opinion, without making Batman's identity known, and so she took another sip from her glass and kept her eyes focused on one of the tallest buildings, far away.

\- Well, as long as Batman gets his hands on that psychotic clown, all will be well - Dent commented, and Camille shivered slightly at the mention of the painted man.

\- Does the police have any information on him? - asked Camille.

Dent sighed heavily. For the first time since Camille had met him, she noticed the tiredness in his eyes and the deep frown lines adorning his features.

Obvoiusly, recent events had taken a toll on him, just as much as Bruce. She felt a little guilty, for judging him prematurely.

\- Unfortunately, no - Harvey pulled Rachel closer, like the mere mention of the clown was a threat - He seemed to just pop up from under the ground. All we know is that he calls himself the Joker.

Camille nodded. _Joker_. Quite fitting, if she had to be honest.

Suddenly, she thought of all the people that had to die to keep his identity a secret. He was a man after all, he had o have a mother, a father, maybe even siblings. How was it possible, that he erased all traces of his prior existence? That must have taken a lot of work. A lot of very dirty, very depraved work, that Camille prefered not to think about, if she wanted her champagne to stay inside her stomach.

\- Interesting... - she muttered.

\- Hmm?

\- Oh, I just think it's interesting - she repeated herself, as Dent looked at her in confusion - How does one even achieve that, complete erasure of their previous life...

\- Sounds tempting? - Dent asked, and Camille knew he was teasing her in a quite cruel manner.

She shook her head and smiled tightly.

\- No, what I went through is a part of me. I would never abandon it.

Dent noddded solemnly and Camille caught Rachel's pitiful expression.

The woman was always very empathetic. After Camille's parents had died and Bruce left, she tried to keep in contact with Camille, despite them barely knowing each other. She tried to help Camille, a gesture the other woman appreciated. Rachel was unbelievably kind and strong, and Camille respected her for that. And for not giving up, despite the town pushing her down.

Bruce came fashionably late, arriving in his own private chopper. Camille rolled her eyes as he came into the penthouse with three models surrounding him.

He looked good in his suit and tie, smiling brightly with whitened teeth at his guests. Only three people in the whole room noticed the subtle look of disdain, as he looked over all the gathered businessmen.

\- Master Bruce certainly knows how to make a grand entrance - commented Alfred, making his way towards Camille.

The woman shrugged, as they both watched Bruce give a speech, that placed a couple of jabs towards Dent, but ultimately ended in an optimistic and pleasant way.

\- He came in with three models, Alfred - Camille noticed - That makes absolutely no sense. Like, what was the third one supposed to do, just hang around in the back? He only has two hands.

Alfred watched in absolute amusement as Camille rantd on. The man had always hoped Bruce would end up with either Rachel or Camille. He knew both women from a very young age, and cared about them almost as much as he cared for the Wayne prodigy, Both were kind and stubborn, and both loved Bruce, in their own respective ways.

Camille excused herself and made her way towards Bruce, who was mingling with investors, a fake smile plastered on his handsome face.

\- Well, well, well - the man turned to her before she had the chance to surprise him - Look who decided to leave her cave and join the land of the living.

Camille smiled brightly and sligtly punched the man in the arm.

\- I was curious about what you did with the place - she said - And what brand of champagne you would pick.

\- It's good to see you. I was hoping you would come - the man smiled and his eyes became almost impossiboy soft.

He looked her over, a slight frown falling on his features. SHe knew what he was thinking. This was the first time since the accident she showed this much skin, her arms completely bare and her back exposed to the world. She smiled at the man, a sad, yet comforting smile. It was alright, she accepted this long ago.

\- I have to go - said Bruce after a short conversation - I wanted to talk to Rachel, while Harvey is busy.

\- Go get 'er tiger - Camille laughed and recieved an annoyed glare in return.

She stood alone, witching the city from the window. The lights were flickering, there was a police car going somewhere below, but then again, when wasn't police going somewhere in Gotham

The woman's thoughts drifted away from the party, back to the painted man. That was him, back at the grocery store. Again, Camille felt conflicted. She should feel terrified, she shoudl run and hide, and make sure this mysterious Joker never finds her. And yet, she didn't. It fascinated her, the way this violent criminal kept himself from flat out killing her.

She wondered, why he hasn't done it yet.

Maybe he needed her for something, but Camille couldn't fathom for what. She wasn't skilled at anything that would benefit a criminal like him. She couldn't make a bomb, she couldn't hack, she was never involved in any shady business. The lack of knowledge bithered her beyond belief.

The idea, that this man had a plan regarding her, made her shiver.

She heard a ping coming from the elevator, and turned to see Alfred rushing to greet very late guests.

There was a policeman inside.

And clowns, lots of clowns.

\- We made it - announced a terrifyingly familiar voice, as the policeman fell lifelessly on the flooor, revealing none other, than the Joker himself.


	5. You Want It Darker

The guests collectively screamed, as the painted man shot his shotgun into the ceiling. A small piece of cement fell down on his shoulders.

The clowns swarmed out of the elevator, keeping terrified men on gunpoint.

Camille shifted slightly to her left, trying to stay out of sight. Who knew what this man would do, if he saw her standing there? She really didn't want to find out.

\- Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we are tonight's entertainment - announced the Joker, taking roughly a glass of champagne from a terrified woman and downing it in one go.

He moved through the crowd like he owned the place, scanning the masses with those dark, flickering eyes of his. He haven't seen her yet, as she slowly crept up, towards Rachel.

\- I only have one question - the Joker suddenly stopped moving - Where is Harvey Dent?

_That's an excellent question._

Camille felt her heart beating loudly in her chest, as she moved behind one of the models Bruce had brought with him. The woman turned to her slightly, and Camille held her trembling hand, squeezing her well manicured fingers. She caught Rachel's gaze from where she stood. There were still a couple of people between them, and Camille rose her finger to her lips, signaling Rachel to stay low.

_Bruce would be here any second now._

The Joker resumed pacing around the room, taking a woman's face in his gloved fingers and inspecting her from side to side.

\- You know where Harvey is? ...Nah.

He moved to an older, bald man, placing a hand on the top of his head and forcibly turning it in different directions.

\- Do. You. Know. Where. Harvey. Is? - he accented every word like he was talking to a mentally challenged person - You know, I'll settle for his loved ones.

The older man shook under the criminal's hand, and yet, despite clearly being terrified, he managed to open his mouth.

\- We're not intimidated by thugs like you.

_Speak for yourself, dude. _

Joker's movements seemed to slow down, which Camille noted, was a sign of catastrophic trouble. Unnaturally calmly, he turned back to the bald man and took his chin into his hand. The other hand was suddenly closed around a small knife. It looked like a vegetable peeler, but Camille knew better than that.

\- You know, you remind me of my father - the painted man said low in his throat, placing the knife as close to the bald man as possible, without breaking his skin - I _hated_ my father.

\- Alright, stop.

Camille didn't have to look, to know who was the one to speak up. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Rachel stood in front of the crowd, sporting a very serious expression. Her hands were balled up in tight fists as she eyed the man. Only Camille could see the slight jerk her muscles made, when Joker's attention snapped to the woman.

\- Well hello, beautiful - he drawled, moving forwards in skipping steps - You must be Harvey's squeeze. And you are beautiful.

Camille swore under her breath, as the Joker waved his short knife around, making his way across the room towards Rachel. Her muscles moved on their own accord, as she stepped forward, right in front of Rachel, extending her arms slightly, as if to shield her from the man.

The Joker's face lit up in a wide smile, as he looked over her smaller form. His eyes were jumping all around her body, and he raised his hands to his face, shaking them excitedly.

\- Always jumping in front of others, hmmm? Pumpkin?

The woman visibly shuddered at the nickname being spoken by his mutilated lips. It was rough and low, and she couldn't say she didn't like it.

In a second the Joker turned on his heel from her and looked around the crowd.

\- What kind of party is this? - he shouted, throwing his hands in the air - Why is no one dancing?

Camille knew where this was leading to, yet she still yelped when the man closed the distance between them and placed a strong hold on the base of her neck.

\- Come here, sweetheart.

She was being pulled to the center of the parted crowd. She tried to resist, but the man was much stronger than her, dragging her with him, until they were right in the middle, clear to see by everyone in the room. Camille caught Alfred's terrified expression, as he stood next to the elevator, the metal plate in his hands shaking.

The Joker shifted his hold from her neck to her jaw and turned her head, so she had no other choice, but to look at him. And she did. Taking in the lines on his forehead, where the paint couldn't quite reach. The black around his eyes, bleeding down in stripes onto his cheeks, like wet mascara. Red, coating thickly his scars, making them even more visible. The scent of chemical paint was overwhelming, burning her nose and bringing tears to her eyes. Whatever paint he used for his makeup sessions, it couldn't have been good for his skin.

He began to move, walking back and forth, dragging her along. He kept a strong hold on her jaw and shoulder. She could feel the hard handle of the knife, pressing into her arm. He was humming an unfamiliar song under his breath, sounding utterly out of tune.

Camille whimpered, as the man suddenly stopped, and she collided with his hard body. She looked up at the scars, just inches from her face. Whoever did them, had a very blunt knife. The way the flesh seemed to thicken in some places, how irregular the cuts were. She could almost smell the blood, feel the pain in her own cheeks.

\- Oh, pumpkin, look at me - Joker almost whispered, tightening his hold on her jaw and turning her yet again.

She met his eyes and felt a shiver run up her back. They were almost completely dark, and intense with emotions, she didn't want to recognize.

\- But you look nervous. Is it the scars? - he asked almost innocently - Wanna know how I got 'em?

\- No.

Camille's voice came a bit strangled, but still strong and the man froze in place. His expression changed instantly, from seemingly playful curiosity, to cold and calculated anger. Too late she realized, that she had said the wrong thing. His free hand came into view and she saw the glimmer of the small blade. She tried to struggle, to free herself from his hands, but he held her close, brushing his body against hers.

\- Not even a bit curious? - the man asked, low in his throat.

_The last warning._

Camille stopped struggling, her eyes focusing on the blade. He could see the coldness set on her face, as she turned to face him fully.

_Everybody dies somehow._

\- No.

The man sighed heavily, like she was a minor inconvenience, and raised his hand with the knife. Camille snapped her eyes shut and tried to cover herself with her hands, raising them protectively.

But the pain she expected never came. Instead, she heard a loud, high-pitched laugh, that caused a tremble to rip through her body.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and saw the Joker leaning slightly back, laughing, like she had just said the best joke he's ever heard. The Joker stopped laughing suddenly, and leaned forward, so close, she could feel his hot breath on her raised arms.

Her eyes widened at the realization. Her arms. Of course.

The Joker inspected her wrist and mover further, raising their joined hands in the air, above his head. With a twisted smile, he turned to her, smearing red on her arm, as his scars came in contact with her skin.

\- Would you look at that - his eyes flickered towards her skin, then back to her face - Did the little Angel try to fly away?

Camille watched him in pure terror. She knew explaining herself was futile, so she just watched, as the man flicked his tongue and swept it across his lips. A habit, she noticed. Perhaps from the time, when his scars were still healing.

The reason this whole one sided conversation was happening in the first place, were long scars, starting at Camille's wrists and dragging upwards to her elbows. They weren't especially deep or visible, but they were still there, light lines across her olive skin. Naturally, the first thought crossing anyone's mind would be, that Camille had tried to end her life at some point in the past. Which was a false accusation.

The scars were caused by the accident, almost ten years ago.

Camille accepted her body long ago. And yet, the way the Joker looked at them, with an expression of someone who has just won the lottery, made her absolutely furious.

\- Little Angel tried to fly like her sweet parents - he singsonged, waving a finger in the air.

Camille snarled like a wild animal and threw her leg up, aiming to meet his crotch. She kicked him in the stomach instead, but it still did the job.

The Joker staggered backwards, another high-pitched laugh rippling through his curled form. He looked up at the woman, who tried to back away as far as possible. His eyes were wild, focused solely on her.

\- Oooh, she there's that little fighter - he laughed, before adding in a low growl - I like that.

\- Then you're going to like me too.

A familiar, rough voice sounded next to her, and Camille exhaled a breath, she wasn't aware she was holding in.

_Finally._

The Batman stepped forward, placing a sharp kick right where Camille did earlier. The Joker jumped back and signaled his goons to join the action. Camille watched in horror, as three clowns were taking turns and throwing punches at the armored man. The Batman held his ground, effectively knocking out all three. Camille watched as the Joker shook his foot, and a small blade appeared right where his toes ended.

\- Watch out! - Camille screeched, higher than she thought she was capable of, right before the Joker kicked upwards, sinking the blade into Batman's side.

If he aimed right, Batman didn't even flinch. Instead, he took a hold of Joker's leg and threw him on the ground. Another three clowns joined the fight but before they even landed a punch, a loud yell resonated through the penthouse.

It was Rachel. Behind her stood the Joker, dragging her thrashing body with him, keeping a gun right to her head.

The room seemed to freeze in one place, as both the Joker and Batman stopped fighting. Rachel was trying to free herself from the painted man's hold, but it was obvious her efforts were fruitless.

\- Put down the gun - Batman warned low in his throat, his eyes never leaving Rachel's.

\- Sure, you just have to take off your mask and show us all who you really are - the Joker aimed his gun behind him, laughing, and shot at the window, breaking it.

Rachel screamed and Camille jumped at the sound of the shot. The Joker shifted his hold on Rachel, so she was suspended over the edge of the window. He held her arm in one of his hands and looked at Batman with a wide smile.

\- Let her go.

Even Camille had to admit, that was probably the stupidest thing to say at this particular moment. Joker raised his eyebrows.

\- Very poor choice of words.

His hand let go of Rachel's arm, and the woman fell backwards, screaming bloody murder. Not even a second later Bruce, Batman, both jumped right after her, leaving everyone in the room on the mercy of the clowns and their deranged leader.

Camille started to back away, slowly bunching her skirt in her hands. She bent down ever so slightly and slipped her heels off. The Joker sighed heavily, watching after the falling Rachel and Batman. He spat angrily out of the window.

\- Collateral it is. - he muttered and turned to the crowd.

His eyes immediately landed on Camille, whose breath hitched when the attention was once again focused on her. They seemed to be frozen, watching each other intently. She saw him dart a tongue across his red lips.

And then a loud ping of the elevator was heard throughout the room.

Camille practically threw herself in the direction of said elevator. Digging her nails into the soft leather of her shoes, she ran barefoot as fast as she could. Behind her, she heard him laugh. He was close. Too close.

Her fingers could almost touch the metal door, when she felt a pair of strong arms seize her from behind. The rough material of his coat was scratching her exposed back, as he practically pressed himself to her, holding her struggling form. There was a hot breath at the side of her neck, and a laugh huffed right into her ear. Goosebumps erupted all across her arms.

The man seemed to notice, as he laughed louder, tightening his hold.

\- No more runnin', pumpkin.

She could feel the texture of his scars on her cheek, as he dragged his face on her skin, making her visibly shiver.

\- Oh, we are gonna have _so_ much fun together... - the man sighed and his breath seemed to shudder at the mere thought.

At that moment, Camille's brain seemed to enter a flight-or-fight mode, as she held her shoe tighter and with all her might jabbed the man behind her in the ribs with the heel.

He let her go, thankfully, stepping back and laughing like an absolute maniac. She didn't even try to look back, she just bolted into the elevator, pressing the door closing button and slamming her back into the wall opposite of the door.

When the elevator started to close, Camille saw out of the corner of her eye that Alfred was rising his finger. Her eyes flickered to the ceiling in confusion. The doors closed, and she stared at the buttons, noticing one with a black arrow pointing upwards.

Weird.

There were no higher floors on the building. Bruce's penthouse was literally on the roof. She pressed the button and immediately jumped in the air, as the wall behind her started to part. Before she had time to react, she was met with a cold concrete floor.

The wall closed in front of her, and she had to pull her legs to her chest, so the two shifting halves wouldn't crush her ankles. For a second she was surrounded by complete darkness. She sat, curled on the floor, too scared to move until the lights flickered above her.

She twisted her body, to see a rather small room behind her.

It looked like a closet, or a workplace. It was cramped, with a single table and a chair. Around it were placed all kinds of shelves that held gadgets used by Batman through the years. Camille scrambled to her feet, massaging her abused behind and looked over all the objects. Darts, blades, gas grenades, grappling hooks. One mask was placed on a mannequin head. It looked like one of the earliest prototypes Bruce went through, when he started his career as a vigilante.

Camille sat at the table, holding the mask in her slender hands. It felt almost rubbery to touch, but it was much sturdier. Camille's fingers toyed with sculpted frown right where eyebrows should be.

Her mind flashed back to the recent events, as goosebumps erupted all over her body.

She really shouldn't be responding like that to a possible threat of death and dismemberment. At least that's what she understood by "fun" in Joker's mind. Because it couldn't have been anything else. If she hadn't run, he would probably kidnap her and torture until her mind, or her body gave out. She was sure of it. And yet, a part of her was undeniably curious.

She had survived him again.

It was almost like he didn't plan on killing her, but then again, he almost did. Camille shuddered, remembering the way he lifted his knife, when she refused to listen to his story. He would have done it, wouldn't he?

First tears came suddenly, like a switch was flipped in her head. She curled her body in the chair, hiding her head in her hands. Deep down she knew she was safe in this mystery room, but then the shivers came again, as her thoughts ran back to the painted face.

The way he looked at her, burning into her soul, trying to pull out her misery out of her. The way his hand held her jaw, a mockery of gentleness, not too hard to hurt her, but hard enough, so she wouldn't run away. She could feel the scars on her face, when he rubbed his abused flesh on her cheek. She began to rub her hands on her skin, where smudges of paint were present like a mark.

Another wave of tears rippled through her, this time dragging a pitiful whine from her lips. It was deafening in the empty room, and made her absolutely despise her own weakness. Her fingers scratched at her cheeks, soon moving to her exposed arms, digging into the scars, that still had smears of white and red. She wanted the gone. Not just the paint.

She felt like those light lines all along her arms were tying her to him. The way his face lit up when he saw them, like he finally had her all figured out. But, she refused to believe they were in any way similar. They both had scars, yes, but they had both got them for a vastly different reason. At least that's what she hoped for.

Camille didn't hear the doors opening and closing. A pair of strong arms brushed her shoulders, and she nearly fell from the chair in fright.

\- Shhhh, Millie, calm down - a familiar, smooth voice began to pull her from her thoughts.

Bruce was kneeling at her side, touching her reddened face, checking her forehead, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

\- Stop, Millie, you'll hurt yourself - he held her fingers, stopping them from scratching anymore.

His body was warm, and his shirt was smooth to the touch, unlike the Joker's coat, when he enveloped her in a hug.

\- What happened, how is everyone? - Camille asked, burying her face in the man's shoulder and taking a deep breath - Rachel, what about Rachel?

\- She's alright, everyone is alright, nothing bad happened - Bruce began to calm her down, tracing circles around her shoulder blades. - You're staying here tonight, I can't have you out of my sight, when this clown runs around knowing your address.

In a flash of common sense, Camille pushed him slightly away, shaking her head almost frantically.

\- The press...

\- Fuck the press, I'm not losing you.

And suddenly she was being scooped up into his arms, as he held her close to his chest. She closed her eyes and let him carry her out of the room, pressing her head to his chest, latching her fingers onto the fabric of his shirt.

They exited the room and found themselves in the penthouse. Bruce places her in his guest bedroom, making sure to cover her with a blanket, before dimming the lights.

\- Call Alfred, if you need anything, I need to check something - the man gave her a tired smile, before exiting, leaving the door slightly opened.

Camille looked after his back and snuggled deeper into the pillow. It smelled like lavender and laundry detergent.

The tears on her cheeks were drying off, creating a thick layer of salt and mascara. Warmness was slowly creeping into her body, as she pulled the covers right under her nose. It was so easy to forget what had transpired just an hour ago. Feeling like this, surrounded by lavender and satin, she could almost push all the violence and conflicting emotions to the back of her mind.

She dreamed she was back in her apartment. Laura was sitting on the floor, trying to roll a blunt and failing miserably. Her red hair was falling around her face in waves, thrown over her shoulder. She was always the prettiest one.

Eric was already smoking, his eyes were closed and his lips pulled into a smirk. Camille watched him, the way his shaggy hair fought back against his attempts to get it out of his face. Singular strands were escaping from the band, that held them together. She always wanted to braid his hair, and he never let her.

\- Where's Ash? - Laura asked, throwing her hands up in annoyance, after another failed attempt - She was supposed to bring food.

Eric smiled wider, puffing out the smoke. Camille watched him mesmerized. He was beautiful, absolutely angelic. With long lashes that would make every woman jealous, delicate features and elegant fingers.

\- She's gonna be here anytime - Eric peaked through his eyelashes, catching Camille staring.

She smiled, cheeks already heating up. She ran her hand through her hair, untangling a few strands. Eric extended his hand with the rolled blunt, offering it to the woman. Camille hesitated, looking at the object with worry clear on her features.

\- Go ahead Camille - Eric's voice was low and rough, and she loved it - Prove you're not dead.

A.N.

I would like to thank everyone that favourited and followed this story, it really means a lot to me!

And hey, if you got this far, why not leave a review? Let me know what you guys think about the story so far, even though I know for now it's just TDK retold.

I hope you guys still have fun in here, because unlimately, that's all this thing's about.


	6. Headlock

She woke up with a scream muffled by the pillows. It took her several minutes, before she finally came back down to herself. The bed sheets rustled, as she stood up from the bed, staggering slightly, making her way towards the desk, where her purse was sitting lonely. She took her phone out and yawned so hard, she felt her jaw click. Morning tears came tumbling from her eyes, as she stretched, raising on her tip-toes. Finally, she looked down at the phone screen, squinting.

Twelve missed calls from Roselyn.

A heavy sigh escaped Camille's lips, as she sat back on the bed, dialing her friend's number. She waited for a while for Roselyn to pick up, but when she finally did, Camille immediately regretted those four glasses of champagne, she had drunk last night.

\- Where the fuck were you? - Roselyn shrieked - I've been calling you all night, and your apartment was closed! Explain!

Camille pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose in hopes of relieving the headache.

\- I'm at Bruce's penthouse. There was a party and all sorts of shit happened - the woman explained with a groan.

Her lipstick had found itself a new home on Bruce's pillow, alongside smudges of mascara and a bit of concealer. Camille felt sticky and sweaty, and disgusting. She needed to get out of here, back to her apartment, where she could take a proper, hot shower.

\- You mean the party crashed by the Joker? - Roselyn asked, curiosity clear in her voice.

\- Yeah, told you, all sorts of shit...

Camille stood from the bed, took her shoes and tugged her purse under her arm, while keeping the phone to her ear. She exited the room and was immediately hit with the bright light of the morning. The whole room seemed to be drowned in its oppressive shine. Her head was pounding.

\- You gotta tell me everything - Roselyn pressed, now sounding absolutely fascinated - I heard that Batman made an appearance.

\- Yup, he popped in for a while.

\- Really?! - Roselyn screamed into her phone, and Camille nearly dropped hers - What is he like?

The main living room was completely empty. No sign of the horrors that had happened just couple of hours before. Camille looked around the penthouse and made her way into the kitchen. The whole place looked like it was pulled from a modern art museum exhibit, with black and white tiles, and all sorts of innovative equipment Camille was too afraid of breaking to use.

There, she found Bruce. He was still in his pajamas, chewing on a piece of slightly burned toast and looking like the grumpiest person on planet Earth. Though she couldn't blame him. Last couple of days were an absolute hell to both of them.

She waved her hand at him and opened the fridge.

\- Well, he's an idiot, that's for sure.

The only thing left in the fridge was a strawberry cocktail in a single glass, some eggs and one lemon. Camille figured that's why she hasn't seen Alfred yet. He was probably battling grocery shopping somewhere in an expensive mall, where they pack cheese for you in a parchment paper and tie it with a golden string, or whatever rich people eat these days.

\- But - Camille turned to look at Bruce, who was watching her with a sorrowful expression - He saved my life. He's my hero.

The man in question shook his head and went out of the kitchen, leaving the woman alone. She sighed heavily and took a big gulp of her milkshake, praying that it wasn't expired. It didn't taste badly, maybe a bit too sweet, but she could live with that.

\- And that Joker guy?

Instantly, Camille felt a shiver run down her back. It was a weird feeling to have so early in the morning, but she had to admit despite herself, it wasn't unpleasant.

\- He's... Odd.

\- You're gonna be all cryptic, or are you going to tell me something more?

Camille huffed a laugh and moved to sit at the table. She looked out the window over Gotham's tallest buildings, squinting her eyes at the sun, slowly climbing up, above the line of the horizon.

\- He recognized me - Camille said after a while of silence - He was acting, like we were best friends, ya know? And he was really touchy about his scars. Almost like he was desperate to talk about them. Although, I don't think he would've told the real story.

\- Maybe it's a way to cope with the trauma - Roselyn speculated.

\- Yeah, well, it's not working - Camille said, almost bitterly.

She took another big gulp from the tall glass and felt her stomach grumble in disagreement. Roselyn sighed on the other side of the line, and Camille sensed something was wrong. She didn't have to ask, fortunately, as the other woman quickly laid down the news.

\- The chief of police is dead - Roselyn muttered - He was poisoned by Joker, yesterday evening.

Camille stifled a gasp with her hand over her lips.

\- Rosie, I'm so sorry - she said after a second of silence - Did you know him well?

\- Nah, he was just this big shadow, overlooking us all. - Roselyn sighed again, and Camille heard her take a big gulp of something - Anyway, there is going to be a parade at noon, near the city hall.

\- Want me to drive you there? - Camille asked, already getting up from the table and putting her glass in the sink.

\- Thanks, but I'll join the march when they're going to pass my street.

\- Call me when it's over.

\- Mhm, sure.

With that, Roselyn hung up. Camille slipped her shoes on and placed her phone into her purse. She made her way to the living room, where she found Bruce once again, sitting on a couch, looking out the window overlooking the better part of the city. She had seen him like this once before. When he had come to her apartment, right after coming back to Gotham. He had been sitting by the window, nursing a cup of tea that she had made for him, and watching the people move on the streets.

It was moments like these, that made Camille realize how much of a burden being Batman really was.

\- I'm going to go home now, take a shower... - Camille said cautiously, slowly standing beside the couch.

Bruce nodded, without looking at her. His brows were furrowed, his jaw tense.

\- You know, all of this wasn't your fault - Camille tried, and failed, as Bruce's head snapped towards her.

\- It was my fault - the man said, voice full of sorrow and barely contained rage - I should've taken action right when that Joker appeared. I should've, but I didn't and now this had happened.

Camille moved to sit next to him, taking his much larger hand into hers and running her thumb over his recently healed knuckles.

\- You did the best you could - she said with such conviction, Bruce almost believed her.

'Almost' being the key word. The man shook his head and took his hand from Camille's grasp. He turned to look back at the city. His profile was sharp, illuminated from behind by the rising sun. And yet, even the rays of warm sunshine couldn't lighten the deep shadows on his face.

She pitied him, even though she would never say it out loud.

His body wasn't the only thing that got hurt in his never ending mission to save Gotham from itself. His mind suffered the most, with all the pain and guilt. Camille couldn't even begin to imagine how it must've felt.

She wanted him to be happy. She wanted to be invited to his children's birthday party someday. She wanted to be that one overly drunk guest at his wedding, who would share every embarrassing story about the groom, given the right encouragement.

Every time he came back to her apartment, bloodied and bruised, she could feel her heart sink. Now was worse however. She could patch him up, stitch his wounds, place a band aid, but she was hopeless when it came to calming his mind.

\- You and Rachel could have died back then - Bruce's voice was quiet and filled with so much sadness, tears were already running to Camille's eyes - All because of me.

She stood up quickly and shuffled her way to stand in front of him. He turned his head, staring at the carpet and avoiding her prying eyes, but she was having none of that. With a quick but gentle motion, she grabbed a fistful of his brown hair and tugged them back, so he was forced to meet her stare.

\- Listen here, Bruce Wayne - she started with a very serious tone, as his eyes drifted around her face - You did everything you could. And no one was hurt in the end. You saved me, Rachel and Dent. You. Did. Good.

With that, she let go of his hair, and Bruce's head fell slightly forward, before he straightened himself.

\- I've called you a cab, it's waiting outside - he said slowly.

Camille sighed in defeat, her shoulders hunching downwards, as she hung her head low. She knew she couldn't win, when he was so deep in self-pity. It didn't stop her before, and it would not stop her now.

She bent down, taking his angular face between her palms. He was looking at her with wide eyes, as she planted a small kiss right between his furrowed brows, and felt them relax under her lips.

\- I love you, Bruce Wayne, don't forget that - she whispered, and gave his cheek a soft pat.

He didn't say anything, and she didn't expect him to.

Camille moved away from him, hung her purse on her shoulder. Taking a last glance at her friend, she made her way out of the penthouse.

Being back at her apartment was a blessing.

The familiar scent of jasmine and Chinese takeout food filled Camille's nostrils, and she immediately felt every problem melt away.

There was only one thing currently on her mind. A nice, hot shower. In a daze, she threw her heels off of her feet. They landed somewhere in the corner of the living room with a loud thump. She chucked her purse towards the couch, hearing another loud thud, that told her everything she needed to know about her aim.

Her head was pounding, her muscles were sore and her feet were absolutely devastated.

Somehow, she made her way into the bathroom, losing her red dress along the way. Inside, she avoided making eye contact with her reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking off her underwear and stepping into the shower. The hot water ran along her sore muscles, relaxing them with every passing second. Truly, that's what heaven must feel like. Well almost.

Camille squeezed her thighs together, as a familiar, uncomfortable need filled her brain. Now, in the solitude of her own apartment she could stop ignoring the burning sensation low in her stomach and indulge in a little alone-time. Her hand drifted downwards, seeking a quick release from the pain and the stress.

Her mind traveled to that one sex scene from that one movie.

Then to Eric.

He was a beautiful person, in every sense of that word. She tried to remember his face, the way his lips parted and his brows would knit together. He was always so gentle, like he was afraid to touch her. She understood why. They had talked about it. How he was scared of hurting her, terrified he could be too harsh. This wasn't limited to sex only. Eric was petrified of accidentally hurting anyone, a fear of becoming like his father. She had loved his gentleness back then, and she was sure she would still love it now.

A sigh escaped her lips, as she leaned her forehead against the tiles in her shower.

Camille's frustrated brain drifted from Eric's gentle touches to a rough hand keeping a strong hold on her jaw. She could almost feel his breath on her arms again, as his eyes inspected her scars with the darkest, most depraved look she had ever seen on a man. She saw red, in long smears, where his lips touched her skin.

Her breath hitched. A small, barely audible moan left her lips.

_No... No..._

The trail of red followed the path of her scars, higher, to the dip of her collar bone. Then lower, and lower, until she was shaking in the shower.

_No!_

Suddenly, she jolted back to reality, taking a sharp step back, and falling ass first on the small shower basin. It hurt as hell, but it made her come back from her messed up thoughts. The water from the shower was falling on her trembling legs. She tried to stand up without slipping, massaging her abused bottom. That was definitely going to bruise. After a while of groaning and scrambling back to her feet, she turned the shower's handle all the way to the left, making the water turn cold.

She shivered and cursed under her breath, as freezing water collided with her olive skin. She tried to focus, to rid her mind of the images, she conjured up in, what she assumed was a moment of weakness.

Turning the water off, Camille stepped out of the shower and patted her bare feet on the floor, walking in the direction of her bathroom mirror.

She could see her face, plain as the day, with smudges of mascara running down her cheeks, and smeared red lipstick, that had somehow migrated to her chin. Her gray eyes moved downwards, observing her scars.

The ones on her arms were bright against her darker skin. They were jagged and irregular. When the paramedics had tried to pull her out of the car, broken shards of the window had torn into her flesh.

A small burn right on the tip of her hipbone, where she had been kissed by the flames from the burning engine.

One long scar on her stomach, where a piece of metal from the truck had embedded itself in her skin, luckily missing her guts.

They weren't pretty to look at, but Camille never felt ugly with their constant presence. They were a part of who she was. A scratched painting of, what should be the perfect life.

_Messed up. She was messed up._

Pressing her palms into her eyes, she groaned loudly, before reaching to a nearby rack and covering herself with a towel.

She made her way to her bedroom and put on some clothes, aiming more for comfort than fashion. After that, she decided to dry her hair, while checking emails she hadn't had the time to read yesterday.

The paper she was working with bombarded her with not so pleasant messages about her recent lack of new texts. The pile of paper scribbled over with red became even more prominent, almost staring at her from the corner of her desk. Two emails were screaming at her about her deadline being literally tomorrow, the third one was a confirmation message from the bank, informing her about her monthly donation to the orphanage being made.

Sighing, she closed the laptop, and leaned back on her couch, taking in the interior of her apartment in all its messy glory.

The faint bit of sunlight came through lowered blinds, illuminating one stripe on the carpet, right where her red dress was laying, lonely and reminiscent of the events from the evening before. Camille shook her head, curls flying around, as she tried to push away those images, that made her almost break her neck in the shower. She was not thinking about it, not at all, not ever again.

Gathering her manuscripts into a neat pile and cramming it into a small backpack, she decided she could not work in her apartment, for fear of getting distracted. Sure, she could hide the dress and get rid of everything that reminded her of the painted man, but she was never much of a logical person to begin with. She closed her locks on the way out and skipped across the street to a newly opened cafe. She hadn't had an opportunity to visit the place since it's opening, although she had to admit that the pleasant exterior spiked her curiosity.

The cafe turned out to be smaller than anticipated, with only a few empty tables and some potted plants in the corners. The interior was warm and gave out a homely vibe, that made Camille relax almost instantly. Besides, they seemed to spray everything with the sweet scent of cinnamon, so she really couldn't complain. The waitress was smiling at her, showing off her braces with pink bands. Camille felt her own face pull up into a smile, as she picked out a caramel latte and a blueberry muffin.

Her papers took up most of the space on her table, as she sat with folded knees on the chair. She was going through her almost finished story, hoping, that if she read it once more, the ending would just pop into her head. The coffee laid only half-way drank, as Camille immersed herself in her own writing. She got pulled out of her thoughts after a couple of minutes by a loud sound of the parade finally making it's way into the town's center. The echo from the celebrations was carrying through the whole city, and soon after Camille could almost make out the meaning of the major's speech.

She looked back at her story, the distant sound of condolences to the chief's family getting lost in her mind, as she picked up the red pen once more. She wrote "bullshit" in big cartoony letters, adding some skulls and flowers. Her story really wasn't sticking together as much as she wanted it to.

She jumped in her seat as the whole cafe filled with the sound of multiple guns being shot at once. A salvo of honor. Camille sat patiently, covering her ears with her hands, waiting for the second and the third round of shots. But when they came, the woman noted, that they weren't in sync anymore. Someone was screaming, she saw people running in the streets, civilians and policemen alike. Another shot rang out and Camille instinctively ducked her head. The city center erupted into chaos, with people escaping from whatever had just happened on the parade. Camille observed them from behind the window, sharing worried looks with the waitress.

\- Something's seriously wrong with this town - said the woman, lost in her thoughts, as she watched some guy sprint towards a parked car, slamming the doors behind him.

\- Yeah - Camille fumbled around in her backpack, trying to find her phone - It's weirder than ever...

Finally, she found it. Giving the waitress a smile, she dialed Roselyn's number, anxiously waiting for her friend to pick up.

\- Millie... - Camille was immediately shocked by the sheer sadness in Roselyn's voice.

\- Rosie, what happened, why do you sound like that?

There was a moment of silence between them, interrupted only by a loud sniff from the other side.

\- Are you crying? - Camille was ready to move, already fishing out a wallet from her backpack - What's going on, talk to me.

\- The parade was... Attacked by the Joker - Roselyn said slowly, her voice shaking. - He and his goons disguised themselves as policemen and when the salvo came they...

Roselyn trailed off and another loud sniff was heard from her side of the line.

\- Are you alright? - Camille asked, freezing in her spot, as her breath caught in her chest.

\- Yes... - Roselyn sighed - And no... Camille, he tried to kill the major, but...

Camille held her breath, knowing full well, that whatever news Roselyn had, it couldn't be anything good.

\- Gordon was shot - Roselyn unraveled on the other side, whimpering - He covered the major with his own body and the Joker killed him.

There was a long moment of silence, as the news slowly traveled to Camille's brain. She placed a hand on her lips, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks. Gordon was a good man, he didn't deserve this. His family didn't deserve this.

\- Do you - Camille stopped to swallow tears - Do you want me to come get you?

The question was met with some more silence. After a while, Roselyn let out a strangled breath.

\- No, I'm good - she said quietly - Lonny will drive me home.

Camille nodded, trying not to question why Roselyn would want to go back with Lonny. The women said their goodbyes and Camille hid her phone in her jean pocket. Like in a trance, she paid for the coffee and the muffin, crammed her papers into the backpack and left, without saying anything.

She got to her apartment, holding onto the walls for support.

Her backpack fell from her shoulders along with her jacket, as she made her way to the kitchen. She tried to determine what was happening to her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to puke, and she wanted to sleep at the same time. She concluded this was exactly the same way she felt when her parents had died. The sickening blend of emotions rushed through her.

\- God... - she murmured, placing both hands on the kitchen counter.

The sickening feeling in her mouth caused her to bend slightly over, as she was sure she would just throw all of the muffin and the coffee out. Her shoulders were trembling, trying to support her crumbling weight.

She's known Gordon since the accident. She could still remember his face, when he had visited her in the hospital to tell her about her friend's death.

He was a gentle, kind man, trying to stay just in the city so full of injustice, that it seemed to leak out of every alley. His determination to do good was worth all of the respect, as he battled corrupted politicians, gangsters and all those psychos that seemed to plague Gotham on every turn. Camille sniffened, as memories of the man flooded her brain. He was a good man, one of the best this city had to offer. He didn't deserve this.

The room seemed to get airless and filled with a strange mix of a metallic scent and sweat. Something scratched at the back of Camille's head, and she stiffened in her place, suddenly feeling a strange sensation on her neck. Her right hand began to slowly creep towards the knife stand. Maybe she was being unreasonable, but the stress and grief made her a bit paranoid. After what felt like eternity, her fingers touched the handle of a rather large knife, that she used maybe twice in her life. Before she could fully grasp it, she heard a soft click behind her, which made her halt in her actions, and slowly turn around. She still held the knife in her hand, extending her hand and holding the blade high.

Her breath caught in her chest, as she took in the sight before her.

_\- Told ya to lock your locks, pumpkin._

A.N.

Well, yeah, I'm leaving you all on a cliffhanger... Don't yell please.

I would like to thank **xFallenGhostx **for leaving a lovely review. It really means the world to me, thank you!

Hey, if you're here, leave a review of your own, let me know what you like and what you don't!


	7. The Good & The Bad Guy

The first thing she noticed, besides the gun pointed right in her face, was that his makeup was missing. The area of skin around his eyes still had a black tint to it, where the paint was too absorbed into the tissue to come off. Same was with his lips, which were unnaturally red, and chapped beyond belief.

Camille had to admit, he was a handsome man, with sharp features and a jawline that in any other setting would have sent her off her feet. His eyes were interesting too. This time they didn't flicker around over her figure, staying still and burning holes into her face. His gaze was intense, focused, those chocolate irises gleaming dangerously under a police cap.

\- Bringing a knife to a gunfight? Hm? - he motioned with the gun to the blade she held in front of her.

She preferred when he didn't smile. When his features were serious and collected. When he laughed, he was unpredictable, ready to strike and kill. Fortunately for her, he didn't seem to be in a mood for jokes.

\- Why are you here? - she asked him, keeping her voice steady.

Joker moved then, approaching the door frame and leaned against it heavily. She noticed he was holding the gun in his left hand, which seemed weird, because she distinctly remembered him holding the knife to her face in his right hand. Her gaze fell to his side, where his hip was pressed against the wood of the door frame, and she felt her breath stop in her chest.

\- You're bleeding - she stated, the knife in her hand lowering ever so slightly.

He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, his eyebrows shooting upwards. Then, he looked down, at a couple small drops of red liquid right at his feet.

\- So perceptive - he murmured, looking at her from under furrowed brows.

Camille made her decision, her eyes still glued to his hip. She placed the knife slowly on the kitchen counter, and took a hesitant step towards him. Joker raised the gun ever so slightly, and she held his intense gaze, as she made another small step, and another, until the barrel of the gun was pressing right into her chest.

\- What are you, uh, doing, pumpkin? - he growled.

She raised her hands slowly. It was like approaching a wild animal.

Long ago, when Camille had been on a vacation with her parents in a secluded, wooded area, she had met a wild fox. She had been reading somewhere deep in the woods, far from her parents and the rest of the world, when the animal appeared, sniffing around, trying to snatch her sandwich. She remembered how still she had been sitting, not to scare away the fox, as he moved towards her, going as far as to step on her legs.

\- You're hurt, I can help - again, she tried to reason, her eyes flickering between his face and the growing blood stain on his side.

He was pale, paler than what was considered healthy. Although, she wasn't sure if it was because of the blood loss, or the paint. Joker pressed the gun harder into her chest, so she had to take a step back. He followed her, pushing her towards the kitchen counter, and when she was finally far enough, he sat on the chair.

\- Well then-ah, work your magic, sweetheart - he said, leaning back in the chair, the gun still pointed at her.

Camille nodded once, then again, as if she tried to convince herself she was in fact going to do this. Her hands were already beginning to shake, as she felt the adrenaline rush through her. She tore her eyes from the gun and started to gather all the things she needed to start dressing the wound. The cruel irony of the situation didn't fly past her. Just a couple of days before, Bruce had been sitting in the same chair as the Joker. She suddenly felt a little sick, and she placed both hands on the counter, trying to calm her breathing.

_This is so fucked up. I am so fucked up. _

\- You-ah, okay there? Pumpkin? - she heard him call, and she immediately nodded, taking the bowl filled with water in her hands and turning to him.

She placed all the things on the kitchen table and pulled a chair, so she could sit right in front of the man. He was observing her quietly, the gun still in his hand. She noticed the slight tremble in his fingers, and noted in her hand, that his strength was draining with every second.

\- You have to - she motioned with her hands to his shirt - You gotta show me the wound.

Joker's lips pulled back into a crooked smile, as he wiggled his eyebrows. Camille rolled her eyes, already feeling a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. The man used his free hand to unbutton his shirt, and Camille swore right there and then, that she would not think about the fact that his chest was in a better shape than she had initially anticipated, and it was definitely not making her extremely uncomfortable.

Instead, she focused on the wound, now visible to her eyes.

And it looked pretty bad. Camille shifted closer, her curiosity taking lead, as she checked the wound. It looked like he was shot, but the bullet didn't go into his body. It did, however, cut a large stripe into his side. The gash was covered in thick blood, that didn't seem to stop pouring out.

\- Well, shit - Camille breathed, leaning back, and taking a warm towel - I'm gonna clean the wound now and try to stitch it up after - she informed the man.

\- I'm all yours-ah - Joker was looking at her from above, a smug grin plastered on his chapped lips.

\- Great - Camille muttered under her breath, as she started to run the cloth on the outside of the wound.

In five minutes, the water in the bowl was red. She worked in silence, carefully cleaning the blood from his side, which was more time-consuming than she anticipated. She blamed Bruce, for never letting her take care of his more severe wounds, whenever he would come to her. She didn't have experience needed to attend to a fucking bullet wound.

Finally, she practically threw the towel into the bowl, earning a small chuckle from above. She looked up at him with an annoyed expression. He seemed relaxed, his head leaned back on his shoulders, giving Camille a good view of his neck and his Adam's apple, moving when he swallowed. He licked his lips, his tongue lingering a bit in the left corner of his mouth, swiping at the scars. Now, she felt really uncomfortable.

\- I'm gonna stitch the wound now - she warned, and he nodded.

Just as she was reaching for the needle, her phone rang, causing her to jump in her seat. The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken, as she locked eyes with Joker, whose brows furrowed.

\- If I don't pick up, it's going to be suspicious - she tried, slowly making her way towards her purse.

Joker held the gun higher, watching her closely, as she took out her phone and pressed the green button.

\- Yes? - she asked, trying to sound natural.

\- Hey, it's me - she recognized Roselyn's voice and let out a breath of relief - I'm sorry I didn't talk to you properly after the shooting, I was a bit shaken.

\- Yeah, don't stress yourself - Camille massaged the bridge of her nose - You wanna meet up tomorrow? Talk things out?

Roselyn was silent for a second.

\- I was hoping to see you today, but if you're busy we can meet up in the morning - the woman proposed.

\- That would be good.

_If I live that long._

\- When's the funeral? - Camille asked, refusing to meet Joker's eyes, as he leaned forward in his chair.

Roselyn let out a shaking breath, before answering.

\- Friday, at noon.

Camille nodded, before the women said their goodbyes, and she placed the phone on the table, running a hand through her locks. Slowly, she turned back to the Joker.

\- Who was that? - he demanded with a serious tone of voice.

Camille sat back at the chair, taking the needle into her hands and immediately resuming her work, wanting it to be done with it, as soon as possible.

\- A friend - she said sternly, before leaning closer and placing first few stitches to the wound.

Joker hissed, as the needle broke the skin. Out of the corner of her eye Camille saw his free hand tightening around the chair's armrest. She had to stop her actions, as the man's body started to shake with barely contained laughter. Camille froze with the needle in her fingers, waiting for Joker to calm down. He didn't. She wasn't really sure what she expected from a totally unstable, bleeding out ass, who was right now having the time of his life, while she tried to stitch a huge gash in his side. Of course,_ he_ would find it funny.

\- Could you stop for a hot minute? - the annoyance was clear in her voice, as Camille looked up at the man from the wound - I'm trying to help, but you keep moving around... _Stop it._

Now it was time for the Joker to glare at her, his body going impossibly still, as all traces of amusement leaving his features. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Camille felt the tension build up between them. For a second she wondered if she could just jab the man with the needle and somehow take the gun from him. She knew a small needle wouldn't do any damage, but it would still give her the benefit of surprise, right?

\- You-ah, you orderin' me? Pumpkin'? - the Joker raised an eyebrow at her as her hands began to shake.

\- I'm just trying to help - she muttered, barely audible.

His face didn't even flinch, as he brought his hand up to meet her cheek. She winced, but the pain she expected never came. Instead, the Joker patted her with his gloved hand on her face, a gesture she recognized from the party, when he tried to intimidate a businessman. Both of them fell into silence again, as Camille resumed her work, slightly shaken by the recent exchange. It made Joker calm down however, so she couldn't really complain.

He smelled of blood and sweat, and greasepaint, despite the fact, that his face was clear of makeup. Camille wondered how many people had seen him like this. Bare, without his usual intimidation tactic. She noticed the scars that littered his exposed torso. Clean and jagged lines, some burns, a bullet wound or two. Hell, the gash she was currently stitching together will leave a scar of its own, there was no doubt about it. They were similar. The thought couldn't seem to leave Camille's mind, as she worked. Two scarred individuals. The difference was, she accepted the hurt she went through. Whatever happened to the man next to her, didn't quite leave him, shaping his mind into the mess it was now. She almost pitied him. Almost.

He was an attractive man, Camille noticed again, absentmindedly, taking a peak from under her eyelashes at his, now relaxed, form.

Very good jawline, nice nose and those goddamn eyes. In another life, in another circumstances, she would take a double glance, perhaps while passing him in the streets. Even with the scars. After everything, she had been through, Camille couldn't judge his appearance based on them. How could she, when her lower torso looked like a wasteland? She looked up again, as she placed her last stitches, and with a shudder realized, that he was watching her as well.

His gaze focused on her hands, her arms exposed again, with all the cuts out in the open. He was curious, she could tell by the way his eyebrows knitted together and his tongue swept at the scars, his signature tick. She half expected him to say anything, as she cut off the remaining string after securing the stitches with a tight knot. They were both silent for a long time, the only sound present was their breathing and an occasional grunt from the Joker, when she did something that caused him more pain, than what he was used to. Camille patched the wound in a way that almost made her proud, smiling to herself as she watched the regular stitching pattern.

He was still watching her, his eyes hovering on her arms in a way that was starting to get awkward. Finally, giving in, Camille looked him straight in the eye, a mischievous smirk suddenly gracing her features.

\- Wanna know how I got these scars? - she whispered, turning her arms, so that he could see them clearly in the light coming from the window.

The Joker stiffened, then rolled his eyes like he was immensely disappointed. Boldness like this was never a good idea around him. She realized it a bit too late, immediately regretting the words that left her lips.

\- You never know when to shut up-ah. - he stated, and lunged himself forward, his hands closing around Camille's throat.

They tumbled on the floor. Camille didn't even have the chance to scream, as they fell. She tried to catch herself on the edge of the table, but the only thing she managed to do, was to knock her backpack to the floor. The Joker pinned her down with his body, his legs on both sides of her hips. She tried to claw at him, as panic settled in. He was choking her with a cold expression, not even breaking a sweat. It was terrifying, seeing him calm like that, while literally squeezing the life out of Camille. She tried to fight him, her legs swinging wildly behind his hunched over figure. Her nails bit into the flesh of his wrists, drawing blood, but it still was not enough. She could feel the strength leave her, as he pressed further. Camille changed her tactics, letting her hands fall from his, searching around her for something, anything. Her vision began to blur, the lack of oxygen pulling her into unconsciousness.

Finally, she felt her fingers brush over something, curl around it. A pen she had taken with her to the cafe. With the last bit of her strength, Camille thrust the makeshift weapon upwards, sinking it into the man's shoulder.

\- Fuck! - he growled, letting go and slamming his body into the table, his hands fumbling around the pencil, which was currently stuck in his flesh, sticking out in a way that could almost be seen as comical.

Camille gasped roughly, air suddenly filling her lungs. Her whole body was hurting, as she scrambled to her knees. The gun, she noticed through her hazed mind, was laying just beside her, and in a brilliant moment of bravery, Camille threw herself in its direction. Before Joker could do anything to stop her, she turned to him, finger on the trigger.

\- Get the fuck out of my house - she seethed panting heavily, her voice rough.

Joker moved slowly, his hands in front of him, as he regarded her with an animalistic growl. His tongue swiped at his lips furiously, as he bore into her with hateful eyes. She was sitting on the kitchen floor, her chest moving up and down, as her body tried to calm itself from the assault.

\- You won't shoot me, pumpkin'. - he started, his voice low and guttural - We both know, that you're a _good little girl-ah._

Camille bared her teeth at his words, her grip on the gun tightening.

\- You don't know shit about me, Joker. - he visibly shuddered at the sound of her name.

They stared each other down. Joker's eyes roaming around her body with an expression, that would give Camille nightmares for months to come. She didn't even realize how incredibly attractive she was to him in her state. The way her eyes held his gaze with unmasked fury, the slowly manifesting bruises around her neck, where his hands used to be, her chest expanding and retracting rapidly in a way that almost made him sing. She secured the hold on the gun, her hands still and ready to blow his brains out, should he try something.

\- Get. Out. - Camille seethed through gritted teeth.

And he did. Slowly, carefully maneuvering himself out of her kitchen, then the living room. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and this fight was not worth the risk. He could throw himself at her, he was aware of the possibility, and it _was_ tempting. But she could also shoot him. Even if she didn't aim right, the sound would alert her neighbors, and the Joker couldn't afford that. Not when he was, technically, in hiding. And so, he backed away.

She held his gaze until she saw him disappear through the front door, closing it with a thud. Finally, she let her hands fall to her lap, the gun heavy on her thighs. Leaning her head back on the chair, she let out a shaky breath, feeling her eyes fill with tears, as the adrenaline rush left her. The stress of the situation finally caught up to her, and she felt a familiar bile forming in her throat.

Camille darted on her knees, reaching the dumpster just in time, as she threw up, cleaning all contents of her stomach. She was a shaking mess, clinging the bin's edge. She didn't care she was a grown woman, she wanted her mom to hold her and brush her hair, and tell her everything will be alright.

But she was alone. Now and always, she was alone with her thoughts, with the weight of the recent events on her shoulders.

Is this how Bruce feels all the time?

With a grunt and a shuffle, she crawled to the table and took her phone, dialing a number with shaking fingers. She waited for some time until the person at the other side of the phone answered, and the relief she felt when he finally did was incomparable to any feeling before in her life.

\- Millie? What's going on?

\- Bruce, he was here - she breathed, sensing another wave of panic just around the corner.

\- Are you alright? What happened? - tension was clear in his voice, and Camille heard a distant sound of shuffling and a cling of keys.

\- I'm fine. He didn't do anything - a lie, she massaged her neck, flinching, as her fingers traced the bruises - But he was hurt, shot.

Bruce was silent, letting her speak. She knew he was already on his way to her apartment, and she was grateful.

\- There is... - she stumbled, words foreign in her mouth - He left some blood behind. It may be useful.

Bruce was at loss of words for a while, freezing in his penthouse. She kept surprising him. He wanted to know why this psychotic clown chose his best friend as a target. Although, was she a target? The Joker could've killed her many times before, by all terms and purposes she should be dead. Bruce was grateful she wasn't, of course, but it made him wonder, what did the clown want from Camille. He packed his equipment, he used to gather evidence from crime scenes and left his penthouse, determined to find the man responsible for Camille's suffering, and the misery of many other people.

A.N.

A big thank you to everyone who followed this story, you guys are the best!

And I would also like to thank a **Guest **for leaving their review and **Justanotheroboist, **thank you for your kind words! They mean a lot to me.

And hey, If you're already here and you want to say something, leave a review, let me know what you like, what you don't.

Love y'all


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